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TIMOTHY 


HIS NEIGHBORS AND HIS FRIENDS. 


BY 

MRS. MARY E. IRELAND. 



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AA Or wash i ^ 




PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 

1882 . 





Copyright, 1882, by J. B. Lippincott k Co. 


/ 


TO 

HER OWN DEAR HOME CIRCLE, 

AND TO 

ALL OTHER HOME CIRCLES IN THE LAND, 

THIS 

STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR. 

Baltimore, 1882. 

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PREFACE. 


When the subject of a preface was under consider- 
ation, but one thought seemed in any way necessary, 
and that was, dear reader, whoever you may be, in 
making the acquaintance of Timothy, you may per- 
haps recognize among his neighbors and friends some 
old acquaintances, who, though figuring in different 
scenes, have intentionally preserved identity. 

If so, and those acquaintances were ever worthy of 
regard, it is hoped that they are nopr doubly so ; for 
although at a casual glance some of them may appear 
superfluous, yet, should you bear them company to the 
end, even the narrator will not be more willing to 
acknowledge that each and every one aided in the de- 
velopment of Timothy ; and, unless worthy, might 
have been his neighbors, but could never have been 
his friends. 


6 


PREFACE. 


It seems impossible that what lias given so much 
pleasure to relate will not give some pleasure to hear, 
notwithstanding the advantage possessed by the nar- 
rator, that each and every character has its original in 
her remembrance. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER PAG® 

I. — Timothy 9 

II — A Surprise-Party 17 

III. — Timothy’s Confession 28 

IV. — Farmer Grayson receives a Lesson . . 40 

Y. — Angels Unawares 62 

VI. — Archibald Levering, and his Son’s Widow 71 

VII. — A Lawyer’s Advice 86 

VIII. — A Daughter’s Keturn 95 

IX. — Mark Bryor, and his First and Only 

Love 105 

X. — Prudence and Mira 121 

XI. — A Consultation 143 

XII. — Caroline’s Lover 152 

XIII. — The Silver-Lined Cloud . . . .161 

XIV. — “Ogilvie’s Pride” 174 

XV. — Christine 185 

XVI. — Caroline a Heroine 210 

XVII. — Sealed Proposals 235 

XVIII. — Shadow and Sunlight 257 

XIX. — Prudence caught Napping .... 267 

XX. — Fruition 285 


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4 





TIMOTHY: 

HIS NEIGHBORS AND HIS FRIENDS. 

CHAPTEK T. 

TIMOTHY. 

He was small, thin, freckled, had yellowish-red hair, 
was a newsboy, and was named Timothy. 

From six o’clock in the morning, summer and win- 
ter, could be heard his cheery, piping voice, " Here’s 
your Morning Telegram , Chronicle , Visitor , and Comet ! 
Morning Telegram , only two cents!” Popping into 
business-places, shouting around corners, jumping out 
of street-cars, crossing crowded streets, dodging wheels 
of vehicles, weaving among pedestrians, he kept blithely 
on his way. 

About four o’clock his “ cry” varied, and “ Evening 
Telegram!” was shouted with as much energy and 
vigor, although the voice might be a trifle less clear 
than that which proclaimed its predecessor. 

One blustery morning in November, Granny Ed- 
monds, with whom Timothy made his home, awoke 
him from the sleep which abundant exercise rendered 
sweet and refreshing, and reminded him that it was 
2 9 


10 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


time to arise. This duty done, granny crept back into 
bed, leaving Timothy in full possession of the kitchen, 
where he slept, to make his toilet and heat the small 
pot of coffee which she had prepared overnight. 

It was but the work of a moment to put some of the 
light wood which granny had collected the day before 
into the spindle-legged stove, which was soon in full 
blast, and resembled an ambitious little locomotive, 
through the open mouth of which glowed sufficient 
light to enable Timothy to dress. 

His simple breakfast was soon despatched, and don- 
ning a garment which had once been a gentleman’s 
dress-coat, but served its present owner as an overcoat, 
he set cheerily out. 

Descending the rickety steps of the old tenement, of 
which he and granny occupied the sky parlor, — or, in 
other words, if the house had turned upside down, 
granny and Timothy would have been on the first 
floor, — he ran briskly to the offices, received his supply 
of papers, and just as “Big Sam” — as the Baltimore 
newsboys called the city hall clock — clanged the hour 
of six, he gave his first shout, “ Here’s your Morning 
Telegram , Chronicle , Visitor , and Comet! Has the full 
election returns, robbery of the Petroleum Bank, great 
fire at Canton, and wedding in high life ! Morning 
Telegram ! Only two cents !” 

Somehow he had been unusually successful that 
morning : two gentlemen, who had each given a nickel, 
refused the change which Timothy promptly offered, 
and all excepting one of his papers were disposed of; 
so his spirits were at high-water mark indeed. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


11 


He sometimes forgot to “ cry,” but whistled instead ; 
when, suddenly remembering that whistling was not 
business, he made up for lost time. 

He had just turned oiit of a thoroughfare and en- 
tered a street lined with handsome residences, when the 
sounds of barking, yelping, snarling, and shouting pro- 
claimed a dog-fight. Timothy was on the spot in a 
twinkling. Two dogs — a black and one of reddish- 
yellow, with a brass collar, around which was tied a 
knot of blue ribbon — were amusing a group of boys, 
said boys aiding and abetting them to prolong the 
entertainment. 

Timothy edged his way among them, and his indig- 
nation knew no bounds when he perceived the black 
dog was much the larger; and although the yellow dog 
was equally pugnacious, and determined not to be 
vanquished, it was evidently losing ground. 

“ Shame on you !” cried Timothy. “ Is not one of 
you fellows going in for the littlest dog?” And, running 
to the nearest pump, he filled his cap with water and 
dashed it over the combatants, who ran shivering and 
yelping separate ways, the yellow dog limping and 
bearing other evidences of the skirmish. 

“Dear me! better make your will, sonny; you’ll 
die early, like the good boys in Sunday-school books,” 
remarked a big boy, tauntingly. 

“ Leave me that overcoat, Guinea-egg,” sneered 
another. 

“He took the yellow dog’s part because it is the 
color of his hair. Save its hide, bub, you may need a 
wig some day,” shouted a third. 


12 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ I did not,” cried Timothy, bursting into tears ; for, 
brave as he was when circumstances demanded, he 
would cry like a baby on occasions, which always ex- 
cited the derision of the boys. “ I did not save it be- 
cause it is yellow, but because I hate to see anything 
that is little abused.” 

“ Brother Smith, please pass around the hat,” whined 
the big boy. 

Timothy waited for no more, but taking his paper 
from his bosom, where he had thrust it in the emer- 
gency, he disappeared around the corner, and soon his 
“ Morning Telegram , gentlemen !” showed that he had 
regained his equanimity. 

He had just run down the marble steps of a dwelling 
whose mistress had beckoned to him from a window 
and purchased his remaining paper, when what should 
he see limping towards him but the little yellow dog. 

Timothy’s heart was in the right place, and was warm 
enough to give comfort to the shivering creature; he 
unbuttoned his overcoat, thanking his lucky stars that 
it had not been altered to fit him, as granny had always 
intended, but had never done, and placing the dog 
within, he started for home. 

Although it was nearly noon, granny was still out 
on her daily pilgrimage hunting fuel, at which Timo- 
thy was in no wise dismayed, for he knew by expe- 
rience — the best of teachers — that granny never stayed 
beyond her usual time without coming home full- 
handed ; so he hunted up a crust of bread, soaked it in 
a little warm water, and gave it to his jproUge , who 
devoured it eagerly. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


13 


“ Nineteen pennies of my money to-day,” thought 
Timothy, taking it from his pocket, “ is clear gain. I 
would like to surprise granny with something good for 
dinner ; let’s see, — what will nineteen cents buy ? Oh, 
I know! I will get some sassage and some rolls; all 
pups like sassage.” The latter clause of this reflection 
referred to the yellow dog. 

Hunting for a bit of old carpet, he found a dilapi- 
dated chair-cushion, placed it behind the stove for the 
dog, and, sallying out, met granny toiling up the steps. 

“ Oh, Tim,” she said, “such luck as never was! I 
found a house as they was pullin’ down, and the 
gentleman told me to fall to and help myself. I 
broke lots of kindlin’ and sold it, brought all this 
home, and am going back this afternoon. And, 
Tim,” she continued, lowering her voice, “what do 
you think I’ve got tied up in the old handkercher? 
why, half a pound of sugar and a pat of butter ; sich 
extravagance !” mimicking, and casting a side-glance 
at a half-opened door on the landing, whereat they both 
chuckled. 

“Well, granny, seeing that you are home, I will 
leave my dog in your care,” said Timothy, with quite 
an air of proprietorship, as he relieved granny of her 
burden. 

“Your dog, Timothy!” echoed granny, as she 
gained her eyrie and dropped, panting, into the nearest 
chair. “ Why, the purty creature ! how did you come 
by it, Tim?” 

The newsboy briefly recounted his experiences of 
the morning, and closed with flashing eyes and clinched 
2 * 


14 


TIMOTHY : HIS NEIGHBORS 


fists. “I wish I had that boy here that called me 
Guinea-egg !” he said. 

“ Overcome evil with good, Timothy,” said granny, 
soothingly ; “ I heerd that once when I was a gal, and 
it has helped me over many a rough place since.” 

Granny set to work to kindle the fire, and Timothy 
departed on his delayed errand. He soon returned 
with his rolls and sausage, to which were added, by way 
of dessert, some apples ; and the dinner, with the help 
of granny’s butter and sugar, was a success. 

In the mean time granny appeared to have some- 
thing upon her mind. Twice she had opened her 
mouth, but shut it without saying anything ; had com- 
menced remarks which had turned out different from 
their original intention ; but Timothy was so absorbed 
with the unaccustomed luxury of the dinner, accom- 
panied by a good cup of coffee with plenty of sugar in 
it, that he failed to notice; so granny was constrained 
to withhold her observation until a more propitious 
time. 

“ It strikes me, Timothy,” said granny, that even- 
ing, as she sat on a pile of wood behind the stove and 
commenced filling her pipe preparatory to a comfortable 
smoke, — “ it strikes me that dog has been some little 
gal’s pet.” 

“As likely as not,” replied the boy, nonchalantly; 
“ and whoever owned her has taken good keer of her ; 
look at her collar how T bright it is, and her hair is as 
glossy as silk.” 

Evidently Timothy had not taken the hint. Granny 
must make another effort. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


15 


“If it had always been yourn, you wouldn’t have 
wanted to lose it, would you, Timothy ?” 

U I would rather have lost my overcoat, and gone 
cold all winter,” replied the boy, promptly. 

“ I expect the little gal is grievin’ for it ; we ought 
to let her know where it is, oughtn’t we?” 

Timothy’s countenance fell in a moment. 

“ Oh, granny, the dog follered me ! I did not coax 
it away. If it had not been for me it would not be 
alive now ; so it is more mine than anybody else’s.” 

Granny was slightly bewildered by this logical rea- 
soning ; she smoked and pondered. 

“ But it was your duty to try to save it,” she re- 
sumed. “Suppose a big boy was beatin’ a little one 
and you happened along and took the little one’s part, 
and you knowed by his clothes that he was a rich man’s 
son, would you think you ought to keep him and not 
try to find his people ?” 

“ What makes you think it is a girl’s dog, granny?” 
he inquired, after a pause. 

“ On account of the bit of ribbon ; it came off* the 
little gal’s hair.” 

“ But the dog was lost, granny ; it is the same as 
though I found her.” 

“ Finding her would not make her yourn. I once 
knowed a man as found a goold watch, and all the rest 
of his life he was afeard he’d find the owner. Some- 
times that watch was hid up the chimbly wrapped in 
an old woollen stockin’ ; sometimes it was in a cracked 
teapot on the top shelf of the closet ; and after he died 
it was put in the papers, and the owner got it. I don’t 


16 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


say, Tim, as how that man would have picked a gen- 
tleman’s pocket, if he had a chance, but that watch 
business was twin-brother to it; it was, indeed.” 

“What do you want me to do about it, granny?” 
said the boy, softly. 

“Try to find the owner,” replied she, brightening; 
“and if you don’t find her, the dog’s yourn.” 

“But I have no time to go around hunting an 
owner ; besides, somebody might claim her that had no 
right.” 

“ I’ve been thinking it over all afternoon, Tim, and 
this is my plan. We’ve got no money to put the little 
dog in the Telegram ; so you just write suthin’ on 
paper and stick it on the walls in your route, and let 
people know the dog is here.” 

“ But anybody might come and ask for the dog while 
I am away, and you wouldn’t know, and let them have 
her.” 

“ I have got a piece of chalk, Tim ; they will have 
to chalk them figgers what’s on the collar onto the 
kitchen-door afore they see the dog ; and if the figgers 
match, the dog’s theirn.” 

The writing of a notice was a difficult task to Timo- 
thy ; but, improvising a writing-desk out of one of 
granny’s pieces of wood, he set to work, and after 
many futile attempts the notice was completed to the 
satisfaction of both. 

“ LOST. 

“A yeller dog with white pause has on a bras coler number 6 
hammer’s alley no reward.” 

It did not occur to either granny or the boy that 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


17 


this notice was a little obscure, and its readers might 
be apt to suppose that the occupants of No. 6 Ham- 
mer’s Alley were mourning the loss of a yellow dog, 
although they did not consider it worthy of reward. 

For several days after Timothy had laboriously cop- 
ied and distributed his notices, he dreaded finding the 
dog missing when he reached home ; but a week passed, 
and it was still in his possession. So he and granny 
felt settled enough to discuss the subject of a name, but 
nothing either suggested satisfied the fastidious taste of 
Timothy. 


CHAPTER II. 

A SURPRISE-PARTY . 

u Things are not what they seem ; 

Surprises meet us every day, 

And teach us how we dream.” 

There had been a long spell of rainy weather. For 
six days the sun had not shown a glimpse of himself, 
and everything, out-doors and in, wore a look of clammy 
despondency. 

Moreover, Mrs. Longman, whose husband was one 
of Timothy’s best patrons, was indulging in one of her 
gloomy attacks, and was looking at all created things, 
herself included, through the bluest kind of spectacles. 

For several days she had gone about the house with 
a dull aching at her heart, a cloud upon her brow, and 


18 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


a querulous twang in her voice, until her husband, kind, 
forbearing man as he was, began to lose patience ; while 
Bridget in the kitchen muttered, almost audibly, that 
“ a saint from hiven would find herself clane bate out 
wid trying to plaze her.” 

Mrs. Longman was naturally not a bad-tempered 
woman ; on the contrary, she possessed many noble 
and commendable qualities; but her spirits were not 
equable : she would have h*er seasons of gloom, which, 
had there been any apparent cause for them, might 
have been looked upon in the light of an affliction 
to be sympathized with ; but, as it was, even the most 
lenient of her friends characterized them by the name 
of “ dumps,” which, though Webster condemns as not 
being an elegant word, w’as in their opinion plenty 
good enough to express the state of the case. Her 
family might have been rendered miserable by her 
despondency had they been of the material capable 
of being made miserable ; but, as it was, each accepted 
the visitation in his or her individual way. Mr. Long- 
man stayed out of the house all he could; Bridget 
contented herself with her prayer-book and her beads 
in the comfortable kitchen ; while the two boys, 
who were too young to go to school except in good 
weather, amused themselves in their play-room in 
the attic, or in Bridget’s domains, where they were 
always welcome. 

The short November day was drawing to a close, and 
although the little gilt clock on the mantel had pro- 
claimed it to be only four o’clock, it was getting too 
dark for Mrs. Longman to sew any longer upon the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


19 


little cloth suits she was languidly mending, so, laying 
them aside, she wandered aimlessly into the kitchen, 
where Bridget was folding the newly-ironed clothes 
from the rack by the glowing grate. 

“ Mr. Longman will not be at home until late this 
evening, Bridget,” said she. “ Business will detain him 
down-town, so you may just set up anything for the 
children. I do not feel as though I could eat any- 
thing ; everything tastes alike to me, and nothing tastes 
right.” 

What the reply would have been will never be 
known, for at that moment there came a resounding 
knock on the area gate, and, throwing an old shawl 
over her head, Bridget hastily responded to the call. 

“ It is two boys, ma’am,” she said, returning almost 
immediately, “ and they have come to a party here.” 

“A party !” echoed Mrs. Longman, in astonishment. 
“Who in the world told them there was a party 
here ?” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am ; I will go and ask them,” 
said the willing maid, who apparently would rather 
have gotten wet than not. 

“Bring them in out of the rain, Bridget,” called 
Mrs. Longman from the door, “until we find out what 
they mean. Of course,” thought she to herself, “ it is 
a mistake ; but what possessed them to come to the area 
gate ?” 

Bridget came in, followed by the boys, who had 
been in the mean time joined by a third, and who, not- 
withstanding the soaking rain, were not as wet as might 
have been expected, owing to their having pieces of 


20 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


oil-cloth around them, which upon inspection proved 
to be old carriage-curtains sewed together ; while the 
last arrival wore a gentleman’s old dress-coat, which 
made a useful if not very ornamental overcoat for the 
party-seeking lad. That lad was Timothy. 

They did not appear to think it expected of them to 
remove their dripping hats, but stood eying the good 
fire and Mrs. Longman with complacent smiles. 

“ You say you came to a party,” said the lady; 
“ have you not made a mistake ?” 

“ Oh, no, ma’am, this is the place your boys told us,” 
said Timothy. “ We went to the front of the house 
and took the number as soon as we sold out our papers, 
and here it is,” taking a scrap of the margin of a news- 
paper from his pocket, and showing the number, sure 
enough, in figures of magnificent proportions. 

Mrs. Longman was bewildered. “ You say, ‘ As soon 
as you sold out your papers.’ What do you mean ?” 

“ Why, you see we are newsboys, ma’am, every one 
of us,” explained one of the curtained lads. “The 
‘ Bulletin,’ ‘ Chronicle,’ ‘ Mirror,’ and several others 
will be along as soon as they can hire somebody to 
‘ cry’ for them, as this one did,” pointing to Timothy. 

“And we are going to pay them with something 
from the party, if you please, ma’am,” supplemented 
Timothy, with an air of cheerful confidence. 

Mrs. Longman could not restrain a smile. “Do 
each of you only sell the paper whose name you have 
taken ?” she inquired. 

“No, ma’am,” replied Timothy, “ we sell all; but, 
you see, all the boys who are coming to-night belong 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


21 


to a club, and we fixed it to call each other by the 
name of one of our papers, and we always call our 
own names first of mornings. I am ‘The Morning 
Telegram/ ” 

‘“Go to the attic, Bridget,” said Mrs. Longman, 
“ and tell the children to come down. Take off your 
wraps, boys, and dry your feet, and we will see what 
can be done.” 

Bridget soon returned with the delinquents. 

“ Boys, how did you happen to invite company with- 
out telling me, so that I could be prepared for them ?” 
said their mother, gently but gravely. 

“ Why, we did tell you, mamma ; don’t you remem- 
ber? We told you that Mr. Reisinger told our class 
last Sunday that we were not doing as much good in 
the world if we invited boys to a feast who had plenty 
to eat and to wear, and who could invite us in return ; 
but he said we ought to invite the poor boys to whom 
such things were a treat. He said Jesus loved the 
lame and the halt and the blind, and if we would be 
like him we must do as he did. So Johnny and me 
told all the newsboys we met to come to a party here 
to-night, and to bring all the lame boys they could 
find. Don’t you remember now, mamma?” 

Poor Mrs. Longman remembered with a pang that 
she had been so wrapped up in her own gloomy and 
selfish thoughts the past week that she had paid but 
little attention to her boys in any way, and she re- 
flected, “ Shall I let the good seed, sown by a stranger 
in the hearts of my children, perish for want of care 
from their mother? Will I let my own selfish love of 

3 


22 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


ease rob these poor boys of a pleasure which might 
always be a pleasant remembrance to them? No, I 
will rouse myself, and make the best of it.” 

Bridget had in the mean time been summoned again 
to the area gate, and had rescued two more guests ; one, 
a pale little cripple on crutches, carefully sheltered from 
the rain by the “ Evening News,” who had not only 
succeeded in obtaining a substitute, but had borrowed 
an umbrella, which umbrella had seen its best days, to 
be sure, being minus two stays and patched with a 
different color; but, demoralized as it was, it did not 
prevent the guests it sheltered from being joyfully 
welcomed by their compatriots already under cover. 

The crippled boy in particular was warmly received 
by Mrs. Longman, whose heart was stirred with sym- 
pathy for suffering in any form. She had just been 
upon the point of proposing that the boys should, until 
supper was ready, adjourn to the attic, which, like the 
rest of the house, was warm and comfortable ; # but, out 
of consideration for the lame boy, she changed her 
plans, and sent two of the guests with her sons to 
bring down such playthings as they desired into the 
parlor, — in which, with her usual good sense, she had 
nothing too fine for use. 

The boys were scarcely settled in the parlor when a 
ring of the bell took them all scampering to the front 
door, where stood three boys ; one of whom, the “ Even- 
ing Bulletin,” was spokesman. 

“ I hope you will excuse me, ma’am, for not coming 
to the area gate this wet evening,” said he, bowing 
over the heads of the boys to Mrs. Longman, who was 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


23 


coming to see what this method of announcement might 
portend, “but Buddy here,” pointing to one of his 
followers, “is blind, and I thought you would not 
mind us coming to the front door ; and I could not 
find a lame boy,” continued he, turning apologetically 
to the Longman boys, “so I brought the charcoal 
man’s boy, who is deaf and dumb.” 

Mrs. Longman conducted them to the kitchen to 
remove their wet wrappings and to dry their shoes, 
and from thence to the parlor, where the other guests 
were sitting rather silently gazing at the pictures on 
the wall and other objects of interest, while she went 
back to the kitchen to hold council with Bridget in 
regard to that all-important event — supper. 

“ What in the world will we get, Bridget ?” said she, 
flurriedly. “ There are eight in there now, beside our 
own, which makes ten, and there may be as many 
more for all anybody knows, and it is too wet to go 
out for anything.” 

“ The asiest thing in the world, ma’am ; I have been 
considering that same while you were in the parlor. 
There’s the chickens in the yard that we were fattening 
for Thanksgiving; nothing in the world would be suit- 
abler than them.” 

“ But that would be only one kind of meat, Bridget, 
and perhaps some of them do not eat chicken; and 
now that they are here, I would like them all to be 
satisfied.” 

“ Trust me for that, ma’am ; I never saw a boy yet 
that could not eat his weight in chicken, only give him 
the time. I will go immediately and tell the fowls 


24 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


their prisence is wanted at a party, and the kettle is 
singing as though it expected a broth of a time.” 

“And I will make a lot of biscuits,” said Mrs. Long- 
man ; “ and while you are cooking the chickens I will 
set the table.” 

“And if you plaze, ma’am, while the flour and other 
things are around, I will make some gingercakes ; for 
next to a chicken stew, with oceans of gravy, there’s 
nothing a boy likes better than warm gingercakes.” 

“Oh, Bridget, you are so thoughtful!” said Mrs. 
Longman, and somehow her heart began to grow 
lighter ; and with a cripple, a blind boy, and a mute 
in the next room, she began to realize that she had 
much for which to be thankful. 

Several additions were made to the company in the 
parlor, and by the time the supper was smoking upon 
the table the mirth was growing “ fast and furious.” 

The boys were almost dazzled by the brilliancy of 
the dining-room, the glitter of glass and china and 
silver under the bright gaslight. Mrs. Longman had 
exerted herself to make it a feast indeed to those who 
so seldom fared except upon the coarsest viands, and 
her table showed no lack of dainty preserved fruits, 
jellies, and all the little extras which she could muster 
on short notice. She judged that boys leading the 
active out-door life of the majority of the guests were 
not troubled with “nerves,” so coffee the richest and tea 
the purest graced the board, while the perfume of the 
baking gingerbread floated through the open kitchen- 
door, where Bridget, in the kindness of her heart, was 
importing a choice stock of horses, cows, and other 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


25 


animals for each and all, cut from the luscious ginger- 
bread. 

Mrs. Longman took quiet observation of the com- 
pany while helping them, and she observed one puzzle 
for which in her own mind she could find no solution, 
and that was that the blind boy, while evidently enjoy- 
ing his gravy, had carefully laid his pieces of chicken 
aside. 

“ Here is an exception to Bridget’s rule,” she thought 
to herself. “ Do you not like chicken, my boy ?” she 
inquired. 

“ Yes, ma’am ; I love it,” he replied, with emphasis ; 

“but ” He hesitated, while his pale little face 

grew flushed. 

A moment afterwards he slipped quietly from his 
chair, and with the unerring accuracy with which blind 
persons calculate distances, he came to Mrs. Longman 
and said, “ Please, ma’am, may I touch your face ?” 

“ Certainly, dear,” was the reply. 

Very gently and speedily the soft hand of the blind 
boy examined each feature, and then, apparently satis- 
fied, he whispered, “ I would like to take it to Nancy ; 
she is so good to me ; she is sick, and cannot get good 
things to eat.” 

Quick tears of sympathy filled Mrs. Longman’s eyes. 
Truly she was receiving many lessons this evening. She 
was giving, but it was being returned to her an hundred- 
fold. 

She kissed the blind boy, and whispered in return, 
“ You are a noble little boy to remember others ; eat all 
you wish ; I will see that your friend has some also.” 

3 * 


26 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


After supper was over, the table cleared away, and 
the other boys deep in the enjoyment of merry games 
in which he could take no part, Mrs. Longman and 
the blind boy had a long and confidential conversation. 
She gathered from his earnest lips that the poor in 
purse can be rich in spirit; that the milk of human 
kindness sometimes made fertile, hearts, which had 
never known anything but stern, unrelenting poverty. 

The woman he called Nancy had received him from 
the bedside of his dying mother, and, although she had 
to work early and late to support her own helpless 
ones, she was, to the best of her poor ability, faithfully 
fulfilling her promise. 

The Longmans were not rich, but Mrs. Longman 
sadly compared her own selfish life, with its means of 
doing good, with that of the poor woman whose oppor- 
tunities w*sre so limited, and yet, whose life was a con- 
tinued sacrifice for others. 

Mrs. Longman was a Sabbath-school teacher, and 
her conscience had reproved her many times that she 
had not gone into the by-ways to bring children under 
the influence of the gospel. Here was her opportunity, 
and she resolved to seize it. She argued with herself 
as to the propriety of using a temporal inducement for 
a spiritual end, and her conscience, upon reflection, 
approved. 

In the mean time Mr. Longman came home, and the 
cheerful smile upon his wife’s lips, so different from 
what he was expecting, delighted him ; and he gave 
the boys an even more cordial greeting than was his 
wont. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


27 


When Mrs. Longman informed him how it all came 
about he resolved to do his part toward giving them a 
good time, so sent an abundant order for apples and the 
beloved peanuts, the idol of the newsboy’s heart, and 
told them to help themselves, which they did to a man. 

Mrs. Longman, with Bridget’s assistance, spent the 
remainder of the evening making up packages for the 
boys to take home with them, and the substitutes were 
not forgotten. 

With her husband’s approval she made a proposition 
to the boys before they took leave, and that was that 
they should come one evening in every month and 
take supper with her boys, providing all who could 
would go to some Sunday-school. To her glad sur- 
prise the most of them agreed to the arrangement, fore- 
most of whom was Timothy, who had enjoyed the 
party keenly; and those who held back she found, 
upon inquiry, were constrained to object on the score 
of proper clothing, a want which she engaged to supply. 

She went further than that. She exerted herself to 
obtain admission into a blind asylum for the blind boy, 
and a short time after the party she had the pleasure of 
seeing him comfortably fixed in his new abode. 

She took the name and address of every boy, and 
promised to pay each a visit in his home. After each 
of the monthly parties she visited the blind boy, taking 
with her his share of the good things, always accom- 
panied by her sons, and sometimes by the “ Chronicle,” 
“ Comet,” or one of the weeklies, but never the “ Tele- 
gram,” for reasons which will be explained; and one 
of the most useful lessons which Mrs. Longman ever 


28 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


received was this : “ There is no surer remedy for de- 
pressed spirits than doing good to others;” and this 
lesson came from her surprise-party. 


CHAPTER III. 
timothy’s confession. 

“ For life is not all smooth, my lad, 

And the way is sometimes weary ; 

But your brave, brave heart will bear its part, 

And press on, bright and cheery.” 

Timothy had never before been privileged to ex- 
perience how much company a dumb creature could be 
for one; although, truth to say, in one sense of the 
word his dog was very far from being a dumb animal. 
Her voice was very frequently heard during the day, 
particularly at such times as Timothy was on hand to 
encourage her. The moment the boy’s step was heard 
on the creaky steps she flew to the door to meet him, 
all aglow with joy, and before he was a moment seated 
she was all over him, running her sharp little nose into 
his pockets in search of peanuts, which he had taught 
her to eat like a newsboy. Timothy, always cheerful, 
was never so happy in his life before. A loving father 
with a large family of young children on his hands 
could scarcely have felt more solicitude than did Tim- 
othy for the maintenance of his dog. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


29 


As he passed the market on his homeward way, 
a penny bought choice scraps from a kind-hearted 
butcher, who had dogs of his own, and had a fellow- 
feeling for Timothy. Sometimes the supply was so 
liberal that granny made soup for the whole party; so 
that one might say the yellow dog contributed her 
share to the support of the household. 

As granny always retired first, it was Timothy’s 
habit to coax the dog to sleep on the foot of his bed ; 
and after a few evenings she needed no coaxing, but 
the moment granny was ensconced under the old cov- 
erlet, the intelligent little creature with a skip and a 
jump alighted in the exact spot she had occupied the 
night before. 

One night Timothy had fearful dreams. He felt as 
though a strong hand had clutched his throat; he heard 
sounds as though huge animals were crashing through 
bushes, and at length was awakened by a stinging pain 
in his arm. The dog had bitten him. 

He arose in bed and looked at her. She tugged at 
the bedclothes, and then ran yelping to the door. The 
suffocating smoke, the light, and noise warned Timothy 
that the tenement was on fire. 

He sprang to his feet, grasped his overcoat, and 
rushed to awaken granny. Dipping one of her stock- 
ings in water, he tied it over her nose and mouth, and, 
wrapping the coverlet around her, bade her run for life. 
Using the same precaution for himself, he and his dog 
flew over the building to arouse the inmates. 

He pounded and shouted, and the dog barked, and 
between them every soul was saved. Some one on 


30 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


the street turned on an alarm ; the engines arrived in 
time to prevent a serious conflagration, but not to save 
the worthless shell, which had burned like a pile of 
shavings. 

In the excitement Timothy lost sight of granny. 
When all had gathered, shivering and homeless, on 
the pavement, she was not among them, yet several 
had seen her leave the building. 

Timothy and his dog hurried to search for her, when 
a fireman hallooed. He had found a woman, a square 
off, moaning with pain. It was granny. In her haste 
and bewilderment she had fallen and broken a limb. 

Tears rained from Timothy’s eyes as he knelt beside 
her and clasped her wrinkled hand in his. 

“ The hospital is the place for her, my boy,” said the 
kind-hearted fireman ; “ I will notify them to send an 
ambulance.” 

When the newsboy set out next morning on his 
rounds, he felt that he had grown old in experience. 
The hospital authorities had kindly allowed him to 
remain with granny until he could find another home. 
He had left her as comfortable as possible under the cir- 
cumstances, her limb set, and the dog beside her bed; his 
thoughts, after his escape of the night, ran upon a name 
for his deliverer. He was just passing a cigar-store when 
he met a gentleman, who stopped to buy a Telegram. 

“ Do you know any lady, sir, who is great on saving 
folks’ lives ?” inquired Timothy. 

The gentleman considered. “A lady last evening 
saved a child from being run over by an ice-wagon,” 
he replied. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


31 


“Oh,” said the newsboy, with just a shade of scorn 
in his face, “ I don’t mean them people who pick and 
choose, but somebody who has not been stingy about 
it, but just went in tooth and nail, and saved a lot.” 

“ There was an English lady named Grace Darling 
who saved many lives ; perhaps you allude to her.” 

“ I was not alluden to anybody in particular, sir ; but 
that is exactly the name for her. Grace Darling ! Thank 
you, sir ! that suits exactly.” And the next moment 
the gentleman heard, “ Morning Telegram , gentlemen ! 
Only two cents !” from the opposite side of the street. 

After Timothy returned to the hospital that evening 
he received a call. The fireman who had found granny 
had not forgotten Timothy’s tears, and had come to 
offer him a home with a widow lady who lived near 
the village of Dorton, the native place of the fireman. 
This lady’s name was Carleton, and she had asked the 
fireman the last time he was at Dorton to send her a 
boy to assist about the farm. 

Timothy was willing to go; and, after a journey of a 
few miles in an opportune farm-wagon, he found him- 
self and Grace Darling in the excellent home of Mrs. 
Carleton ; so excellent that, if granny had been there, 
there .would have been nothing more to desire. 

The dwelling of Mrs. Carleton was situated upon 
gently rising ground, in the midst of a fine rolling 
country, and was one of many comfortable homes in 
the neighborhood built upon just such green knolls; — 
homes of her friends and neighbors, who from the day 
of Timothy’s arrival became his neighbors, and in time, 
his friends. 


32 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


A flowery fragrant meadow lay between the home of 
Mrs. Carleton and that of Mr. Bryor, her nearest 
neighbor ; in the valley lay the mill property of Archi- 
bald Levering, while the farm-house of his brother, 
Jonas Levering, was dimly seen through the trees and 
shrubbery which surrounded it, and in the distance was 
the elegant mansion, with its gabled roofs and Gothic 
windows, known in the neighborhood as “Ogilvie’s 
Pride.” 

Mrs. Carleton employed an experienced farmer named 
Grayson, who, with his little family, lived in a neat 
tenant-house, only separated from the mansion and its 
grounds by a large and fruitful apple-orchard ; yet she, 
being an energetic business woman, kept every part of 
the large and well-cultivated farm under her own 
supervision. 

Parmer Grayson boarded all the laborers, so Mrs. 
Carleton’s family was small, consisting only of her 
aged father-in-law (good old Grandfather Carleton) and 
her two sons, students at the academy at Dorton, a 
village about half a mile across-lots. 

Timothy’s duties, which were light (merely to do 
the little odd jobs which turned up in the course of 
the day and to go to Dorton upon errands), left plenty 
of time wherein to improve his manners and cultivate 
his mind, which Mrs. Carleton, in the goodness of her 
heart, resolved should be done. 

She had a cousin who was fond of children, and who, 
for a few hours each morning, taught a class of little 
ones too young to go to the new school-house on the 
hill. Mrs. Carleton bespoke a place in this class for 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


33 


Timothy, somewhat against the boy’s inclination at first, 
for he was sensitive in regard to his want of school- 
craft ; but Cousin Melie was so patient and kind, that 
he became reconciled to the restraint so different from 
his newsboy life, and did not feel his deficiencies as he 
would have done at the larger school. 

Cousin Melie was a rosy, matronly little woman, who 
laughingly acknowledged herself “an old maid some- 
thing which her friends could not gainsay, although 
the line of demarcation is so undefined, some persons 
setting this year as a limit and some that, that it is dif- 
ficult to decide where girl leaves off and spinster begins. 
Moreover, all united in thinking that she was the very 
nicest one that ever lived, and her placid, contented 
existence bore testimony that spinsterhood was not such 
a lamentable state and condition as some married folks 
try to make out. 

She lived by herself in a long, one-storied house, 
with three compartments, which had evidently been 
built at different periods. Travellers were charmed 
with its resemblance to the cottage wherein had lived 
and died that wonderful poet, Robert Burns, and some- 
how, almost without intending it, her home was known 
to herself and others as the “ Burns Cottage.” 

It was in better repair, however, than its namesake,, 
had green shutters, porches overrun with honeysuckles 
and ivy, and garden and yard full of old-fashioned 
flowers. This home had been her father’s and her 
grandfather’s; and Cousin Melie loved it not only for 
its comfort, but for the associations connected with it, 
and everything which surrounded it. 

4 


34 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Timothy had attended her school but two weeks 
when Cousin Melie was burned out. This, to many, 
may appear an abrupt and somewhat obscure sentence, 
but to Cousin Melie herself it was plenty long enough, 
perfectly lucid, and full of meaning. 

To the wealthy, the loss of a poor little cottage of 
three rooms like hers might have cost no more regret 
than if it had been a hen-coop which had come to 
grief; to those who were insured to its full value it 
might have been a riddance of an incumbrance ; but to 
poor Cousin Melie it was a real catastrophe, which 
required all the Christian philosophy she possessed to 
enable her to look upon it in the light of “ all for the 
best,” which had heretofore been her balm in every 
affliction. 

How could it be expected of her, when one consid- 
ered that the small bonfire which had flashed up and 
run its course in half an hour had robbed her of home 
and occupation, and furniture and clothing,. if we may 
except the few garments in which she had lain down to 
peaceful slumber, and in which she had only escaped 
with her life? Then, every hour in the day, and 
night, too, for that matter, she thought of something of 
which the devouring element had robbed her, — articles 
which no money could replace, — the portraits of her 
parents, her piano, little keepsakes and souvenirs, gifts 
perhaps of departed friends, of little value to any one 
but herself, the loss of which she deeply mourned. 

But there was one good turn the fire did her, which 
in a manner compensated for the evil. It tried her 
friends and proved them to be good gold, — yea, “ Guinea 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


35 


gold,” as the old-time folk used to say, which was in 
their estimation the quintessence of all that was pure 
and sterling. 

This home and that was opened to the terrified, sad- 
hearted woman ; sympathy cheered her, loving words 
comforted her; and her patrons set about ways and 
means to keep her among them. The little brick school- 
house, deserted now because of the superior advantages 
of the new one, was owned by a corporation who set but 
little value upon it, and, standing idle, it was fast going 
to ruin. By the advice of her good friends, Cousin 
Melie applied for the purchase of it, and, a nominal 
price being set upon it, she became its owner. They 
would gladly have presented it to her, but knowing 
that she appreciated the “ glorious privilege of being 
independent,” they let her have her own time to make 
easy payments, which, by the help of her little school, 
was not a difficult task. 

Booms were partitioned off, a neat portico went up 
like magic, a picket-fence, with fancy gate, enclosed a 
green yard, and in a little while the whole village was 
proud of Cousin Melie’s home. Then came the house- 
warming, the day of days when she took possession ; 
and the pupils and their mothers took as much interest 
in the proceedings as Cousin Melie herself; but, first 
and foremost, we must mention that it was really as- 
tonishing how many mistakes people made about that 
time in buying household goods. 

Mrs. Carleton had bought a carpet at an auction for 
a mere song, bright and new-looking, but it did not 
seem inclined to fit a room in her house; but, by a 


36 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


singular coincidence, it just fitted Cousin Melie’s par- 
lor; so there it was, smiling bright approval upon its 
purchaser’s tact and kindness. Another lady had a 
cook-stove, excellent, but too small for her family, 
and she had no earthly place to put it; it was such 
an efficient, trusty little affair that she could not bear 
to have it rust out unused, so she asked as a favor 
that Cousin Melie should give it house-room; so, 
shining in brilliant blackness, it was doing duty, send- 
ing out clouds of steam from its bright little tea-kettle, 
while its insides were literally groaning, being stuffed 
to repletion with good things. And so with chairs and 
tables and curtains, and dishes, and knickknacks of all 
kinds, they seemed to be in the way everywhere else ; 
came to the moving and forgot to go home. 

Oh, dear, what good times everybody had that day ! 
They stayed to dinner and supper, were in the best 
kind of spirits, and all had such glorious appetites. 

But, no ; there was one exception, and that exception 
was Timothy. His spirits were decidedly at low ebb, 
and his appetite ditto. Moreover, his eyes had a trick of 
filling with tears now and then, and when all had bidden 
Cousin Melie good-night at the ending of this happy and 
ever-to-be-remembered day, he slipped out unnoticed, 
only to return, as soon as the last guest had departed, 
to kiss her hand, and, with hot tears chasing each other 
down his cheeks, to ask her in a voice scarcely audible, 
to forgive him ; all of which left Cousin Melie in such 
a maze that she did not come out of it in time to ask for 
what she was to forgive him, until he was half-way home, 
flying across the fields like a young deer. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


37 


Cousin Melie was very busy all the next day after 
her house-warming, putting things to rights and ad- 
justing her property to the best possible advantage, 
taking two weeks’ vacation for the purpose ; but all 
through the day, and for several days, the thought of 
Timothy and his singular manner — like Monsieur 
Tonson — would come again, and she resolved the next 
opportunity to ask him the question she had been too 
surprised to ask him the evening of her moving. But, 
somehow, she never could get the opportunity. When 
he went across-fields to the village store and post-office, 
taking Cousin Melie’s premises in his route, it was al- 
ways late in the evening, and Cousin Melie, who kept 
early hours, had shut herself in for the night ; and if she 
called at Mrs. Carleton’s, Timothy was out about the 
place at work, and she did not care to excite inquiry by 
asking for him ; so time passed, and the occurrence was 
almost forgotten by Cousin Melie, when, one snowy 
morning, Mrs. Carleton’s comfortable, roomy sleigh 
came to her door, her glossy, well-fed horses driven by 
Farmer Grayson, and Cousin Melie was asked as a favor 
to go and see Timothy, who was sick, and earnestly de- 
sired to see her. As the snow was so deep she could 
have no scholars, Mrs. Carleton had sent word for her 
to bring her sewing and spend the day, and she would 
send her home in the sleigh in the evening. 

She was soon ready, pleased as a child with the pros- 
pect of a pleasant visit and a sleigh-ride ; for although 
it was but a short walk across to Mrs. Carleton’s, it 
was quite a little journey “ round the road,” especially 
when one took the two lanes in consideration. 

4 * 


38 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ I cannot see that a hate ails him,” remarked good 
Farmer Grayson, in the vernacular of the neighbor- 
hood, as he helped her out of the sleigh and opened 
the gate for her; “but he is uneasy in his mind, that’s 
certain, and thinks you can help him, so I will keep 
on home, and give you a chance ; and Mrs. Carleton 
can blow the horn when she wants me to come to take 
you home.” 

Cousin Melie thanked him, and tripped lightly up the 
shovelled path, with its bank of snow on either side. 
All she knew of Timothy was no more than everybody 
in the neighborhood knew, and that was, that he had 
been a newsboy in the city, had, like herself, narrowly 
escaped death by fire, and had come from the hospital 
to the excellent home of her cousin Carleton. 

Cousin Melie found Timothy turning restlessly on 
his pillow, his troubled eyes eagerly scanning her coun- 
tenance as she came toward him. 

She took his hot, tremulous hand in hers with a 
firm, tender pressure, and said, kindly, “ Now, Tim- 
othy, tell me exactly what it is that troubles you.” 

“ You will not put me in jail, nor tell anybody if I 
tell you, will you ?” replied the boy, looking cautiously 
around. 

“You will not go to prison, of that I am certain,” 
said Cousin Melie, encouragingly ; “ and for the other 
part, I cannot promise until I know what it is you wish 
me to keep secret.” 

“Well, then,” said Timothy, bursting into tears, “I 
set your house on fire, and you might have been burned 
up in it.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


39 


Cousin Melie could not forbear giving a startled look 
at the boy, in which was mingled a grain of suspicion. 
“ You did not do it intentionally, surely,” she said. 

"I don’t know whether I did or not. Sometimes 
I think I did, and again I think I did not. I was 
coming from the village with three boxes of matches, 
and as I was passing your house, I thought I would 
take the lid off one of the boxes. My finger-nail 
scraped the matches, and the whole box got afire. I 
guess I aimed for your wood-house window, but I 
don’t know ; anyhow, it went in there. I wish I had 
stayed and wakened you, but I thought you might put 
me in jail, so I ran home, and have been worried ever 
since, and guess I am going to die.” 

Cousin Melie could scarcely help smiling at the 
tragical ending of the poor boy’s confession ; but she 
thought it might lessen the effect of the advice she 
wished to give him, so refrained. She lost no time in 
assuring him that he had suffered all the punishment 
he should suffer for his thoughtlessness, that there was 
no danger of his dying at present, and that not a being 
should know that it was set on fire unless he told it 
himself. 

te If I ever live to be a man and make some money,” 
said the grateful boy, “ you shall have the piano and 
everything back you lost, if I can get them for you.” 

“ I have no doubt you would, my dear boy,” said 
Cousin Melie, cheerfully; “ but we will not worry 
ourselves any more about it. I should have had to 
leave all my little treasures some day, so they took the 
lead and left me.” 


40 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Cousin Melie spent a refreshing day with Mrs. 
Carleton and her family, giving and receiving pleas- 
ure. She gave Grandfather Carleton much new food 
for thought, and had a merry romp with the boys 
when they came home to dinner. Before the horn 
blew for Farmer Grayson, and while Mrs. Carleton 
on hospitable thoughts intent was preparing something 
extra for tea, she had a long, comforting, motherly talk 
with Timothy, after which she bade him an affectionate 
good-night, and left him to the first really peaceful 
slumber he had enjoyed since his piece of amateur in- 
cendiarism; while Cousin Melie took to her humble 
home the pleasing consciousness that she had added 
another true and faithful heart to her list of friends. 


CHAPTER IY. 

FARMER GRAYSON RECEIVES A LESSON. 

“ Deeds are powerful, mere words weak, 

Battling at high heaven’s door, 

Let thy love by actions speak.” 

It was the day before the annual butchering at 
Farmer Grayson’s, and his wife and Marcia — his maiden 
sister, who made her home with them — had been busy 
since the early dawn preparing for the next day’s extra 
work. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


41 


Several of the neighboring men were to assist, as 
was the custom in regard to each other. Farmer 
Grayson raised not only enough porkers for the use of 
his own family and that of Mrs. Carleton, but also had 
the privilege of raising several for sale. The profit 
accruing from them, the poultry, and other things he 
could take to market, was quite an addition to the salary 
given him by Mrs. Carleton; and he was looked upon 
as a prosperous man, many envying him his excellent 
situation as cultivator of one of the best farms in the 
neighborhood. 

He and his son Harry, a boy of eleven years of 
age, had been as busy out of doors as the “ women 
folks” had been within. Huge logs had been hauled 
from the woods and rolled together ; smaller wood was 
added, chips and shavings filled the crevices; all it 
required was the shovel of coals which would be ap- 
plied by daylight the next morning to make a splendid 
fire, which would light up every nook and cranny 
around. The hogshead of water, with its carpet cov- 
ering, stood near by, all ready for the morrow. 

Timothy, whose health and spirits were completely 
restored, had hurried home from school and made short 
work of dinner in his haste to assist at Farmer Gray- 
son’s in this, to him, novel experience ; and when the 
horn blew for him to come to supper, feed the poultry, 
and perform several other little duties which consti- 
tuted his evening work, he could scarcely tear himself 
away. 

A tired boy was Harry Grayson when evening closed 
in ; tired, and not a little excited. A variety of con- 


42 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


flicting emotions, sorrow and pleasure, expectation and 
a measure of anxiety, were some of the feelings which 
agitated his mind. Among the swine there was one 
which he had for a year reckoned upon as his own. 
He called it “ Curly” on account of its bristles, which, 
with all his currying, never would lie straight, but 
curled all over. All through the. year he had attended 
to it and the others faithfully; the only difference he 
made in regard to them was, that “ Curly” received all 
the petting. 

His father, with the rest of the family, spoke of 
it as Harry’s pig, and now that the time had drawn 
near for it to be disposed of, Harry began to wonder 
whether it would be kept for their own use or be sent 
to market with the others. Between his father and 
himself never a word had passed in regard to it, but 
to his aunt Marcia he had confided his conjectures and 
great expectations. 

That the money “ Curly” was worth would not be 
his to use as he pleased, had never crossed his mind ; 
all his thoughts were spent upon the best way to invest 
it. Slate and pencil had helped him dozens of times, 
but even addition and subtraction could not report defi- 
nitely, while the market value of Curly remained an 
unknown quantity. 

Although his aunt Marcia had her misgivings, she 
did not wish to dampen Harry’s anticipations by im- 
parting them to him ; but instead she resolved to settle 
them by having a conversation with Mr. Grayson upon 
the subject. 

“ What do you intend to do with Harry’s pig, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


43 


Daniel?” she had remarked that very morning, while 
Harry was out of the room. “ Do you intend keeping 
it for our own use, and paying him for it, or do you 
intend selling it?” 

“ Paying him for it ! what in the world should I do 
that for?” he said in surprise. “He would get as 
much of the pork as he could eat if I kept it, would 
he not ? But I do not intend keeping it ; I will sell 
it.” 

“And give him the money?” she hesitatingly in- 
quired. 

“ I think not; that would be too silly for anything, 
to give him so much money to squander on balls and 
marbles, when 1 have fifty ways to use it.” 

“ But you could advise him how to spend it, and 
thus teach him to use money to advantage. He has 
asked my advice several times, and I have given it 
to the best of my ability, although I have been all 
the time fearful that you would not allow him the 
money.” 

“ Well, you feared about right that time,” he replied, 
carelessly ; “ it would be a downright sin to allow such 
a waste.” 

“ Daniel,” said his sister, earnestly, “ I was present 
when Harry asked you for that pig; a poor little 
weakly thing it was ; you thought it would not live, 
while the rest were lively and strong. When he offered 
to take care of it, you told him it was his to do with 
as he thought best. He attended to it faithfully, or it 
would not have lived; and now that it is as fine as 
any of them, although it has cost him many a pang 


44 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


that it must share the fate of the rest, he has been 
somewhat consoled by the thought that he could buy 
things with the money that he has long wanted and 
needed.” 

“ What can he possibly need that he does not get, I 
should like to know? He has plenty to eat and to 
wear, and that is about all that you or I or any of us 
get, I take it.” 

“ Well, then, if you won’t give him the money, don’t 
say anything to him about it, either before or after you 
sell it, but leave the matter with me,” she said, sadly, 
as he put on his hat to go out. 

“ 1 shall probably never think of it again ; I have 
too many other things to bother about to think of 
trifles.” And leaving the room he wended his way to 
the barn, while Marcia, standing by the window and 
gazing gloomily out, saw Harry, who had been curry- 
ing and feeding the horses, lead them out to the water- 
trough. 

“ No wonder boys hate the farm,” said she, bitterly, 
as tears forced their way to her eyes and rolled down 
her sallow cheeks. “ Who can blame them for leaving 
it as soon as they are their own masters ? What do 
they ever see but a dull, unending round of work ? 
Nothing to encourage them, nothing to call their own, 
and worse than all this rank injustice.” 

Farmer Grayson was not a mean, penurious man; 
still less was he a dishonorable man in his dealings 
with others; he simply thought his children had no 
rights that he was called on to respect. Being his 
children, he was bound to clothe and otherwise provide 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


45 


for them, and he did so cheerfully to the best of his 
ability; but that his family should have little hopes 
and desires that cost money, he scouted the idea. 

To the older members of the small household this 
was not so much of a hardship. Middle-aged people 
are apt to look at life in a very practical light, romance 
having given place to reality. In the early part of 
Farmer Grayson’s life the bread-and-butter question 
had been so all-absorbing that frugality had become a 
pleasure to him, and he strove to make it such to his 
family ; therefore desires and needs for things looked 
upon as beyond their reach had so long been put 
patiently by, that they had almost ceased to branch 
out. 

Marcia Grayson was in a manner dependent upon 
her brother, if dependence it could be called where 
nearly all her time and energies were spent in his in- 
terest and that of his family. He and his wife made 
her entirely welcome; she felt and was as much at 
home as any other member of the family. 

Safe in a drawer of her bureau up-stairs she had a 
few dollars laid away, which she had earned by knit- 
ting for families in the neighborhood during her leisure 
hours, and although it was intended for the purchase 
of a warm winter shawl, she resolved that rather than 
Harry should be disappointed she would do as she 
had done scores of times, — wait. 

Bright and eayly a morning or two after, Farmer 
Grayson was on his way to market. The size and 
weight of his porkers had been the subject of much 
admiring comment among his helpers, so even he was 
5 


46 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


satisfied. Mrs. Carleton’s share had been securely put 
away in barrels, tubs, and tanks in her cellar, and he 
purposed doing the same with his own on his return 
from the city that evening. 

Harry helped him off, and though he had hoped to 
be invited to accompany him, he was told of several 
little odd jobs with which to fill up the leisure between 
school hours and his father’s return. ^ All the day, 
while his hands were busy, his thoughts were at mar- 
ket; and when evening began to close in he climbed 
an old cherry-tree at the end of the lane to catch the 
first glimpse of the returning team. 

Farmer Grayson came home in first-rate spirits, 
alighted from his farm-wagon in front of the barn, 
stretched his cramped limbs after the long and some- 
what rough journey, greeted Harry pleasantly, and 
then went into the house ; while Harry and a neigh- 
boring boy, who had come to stay all night with him, 
unharnessed the tired horses, and attended to them 
while Farmer Grayson took his supper. 

“ What did Harry’s pig bring, Daniel ?” said Marcia, 
as she poured him out his third cup of tea. 

“ Fifteen dollars in good money,” replied her brother, 
briskly, “and I could have sold ten more like it if I 
had taken them.” 

By the time Harry and his companion came in all 
was talked over, and he did not get to hear anything 
of what from first to last had been of so much interest 
to him. 

When he had finished his supper, Farmer Grayson 
and the two boys adjourned to the cellar, to cut and 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


47 


salt down what was to be their year’s supply. They 
were, in a short time, joined by Timothy, who had been 
sent over on an errand, with the privilege of staying 
until bedtime; but who, upon finding things so much 
to his taste, and upon the entreaty of the boys, had run 
back to obtain Mrs. Carleton’s consent to his remaining 
overnight and sleep with the boys, which consent was 
given. 

Harry thought surely now he would hear what 
“ Curly” brought ; but, although the time was passed 
in cheerful conversation, not a word upon the subject 
nearest his heart was spoken. Then came bedtime, and 
taking a light, the boys went to Harry’s room, and, 
seating themselves on the side of the bed, were soon 
deep in that which was uppermost in the mind of at 
least one of the group. 

Farmer Grayson, being weary after his day’s work, 
also retired earlier than usual, and removing his shoes, 
as was his custom, ascended the stairs a few moments 
after the boys, and, unperceived by them, gained his 
couch, where, without intending it, he overheard the 
conversation in the adjoining room. 

“ It was your pig, and your father’s hog, if it is the 
way it is at home,” Fred Patton was saying, as Mr. 
Grayson laid his head on the comfortable pillow where 
he purposed passing a tranquil night. u I can’t tell 
you how many pigs and calves and lambs I have raised 
and thought they were mine, until they were sold ; then 
I found my mistake. I don’t care a straw now to call 
anything mine; I feed them because I have to and 
because I do not like to have them go hungry ; but it 


48 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


is all one to me what father gets for them, I never see 
a penny of the money. Charlie Burnet wrote to me 
after he went home last summer, and said if he was me 
he would come to the city, and then what I worked for 
would be my own, and as soon as I am old enough I 
am going.” 

“ What was the last thing he sold that was yours ?” 
asked Timothy. 

“ Why, the geese. I took all the care of them. They 
were always around Mr. Levering’s mill-pond, and 
several times wandered off down the creek, and I had 
to hunt for them. I asked father if I might have two 
of them for my own, and he said 1 yes/ three of them if 
I wished.” 

“ Did you ever ask for the money when he sold any- 
thing of yours ?” said Harry, earnestly. 

“Never but once. That was when he sold the 
turkeys last year. I asked him how much my two 
brought. He laughed, and asked me how they came 
to be mine. I told him that I had fed and taken 
care of the whole flock. He asked me whose corn 
they had eaten. I said that I had never thought 
of that, and if he had reminded me I would have 
bought some corn for them of him, and paid him after 
I sold the turkeys. He laughed again, and said I 
would have found they had eaten their heads off over 
and over again.” 

“ I know father will not serve me that way,” said 
H arry, after a thoughtful pause ; “ but it was his corn 
that ‘ Curly ’ ate, that is certain. I never thought of 
that before,” he added, doubtfully. 


AND IIIS FRIENDS. 


49 


“Well, maybe not,” said Fred; “but I know one 
thing certain, — the old farm will not keep me one day 
after I am my own master.” 

“ What would you have 'bought with your turkey- 
money ?” said Timothy, eying Fred compassionately. 

“I was going to get a pair of skates, and if the 
money held out, ‘ Robinson Crusoe.’ ” 

“ That is one of the things I am going to buy, 
Fred,” said Harry, consolingly, “ and you shall read it 
as much as you please.” 

“ Yes, if you get it. You had better not count on it 
much.” 

“Let us put out the light and get in bed,” said 
Harry, “ then we can talk over what I am going to 
buy.” 

“If you get the money,” remarked Fred, scepti- 
cally. 

“ What do you call this ?” cried Harry, joyfully, as 
he turned from the tallow dip which he was about to 
extinguish with a puff of his breath, extending at arm’s 
length an envelope upon which was written “ Harry’s 
money.” “ Now, what do you say ?” he continued, his 
face flushing with delight. “ Didn’t I tell you my father 
would not serve me such a trick ? Hurrah ! He’s a 
trump! Now, you hold the candle, Tim, while I 
count it. Fifteen dollars good money ! Isn’t that 
splendid ? I’ll have ‘ Robinson Crusoe’ and every- 
thing else I want out of that.” 

When Mrs. Grayson, who had been sitting up late 
making “old clothes look a’maist as weel as new,” 
sought her rest, instead of finding Mr. Grayson 
5 * 


50 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


wrapped in peaceful slumber, she perceived that he 
was not only awake but restless and ill at ease. 

“ Are you sick, Daniel?” she inquired, anxiously. 

“ No — yes — I guess so ; anyhow, I never felt quite 
so mean in all my life.” And he briefly recounted to 
her what he had overheard. 

“Yes, I know it,” was the quiet response; “but 
that is not all. Poor Marcia has been saving that 
money for a long time to buy a shawl. Proud & 
Stirling sent to the city for one for her, and when it 
came they sent word to her. She went over to see it, 
and it was exactly what she wanted, and she told them 
so; but she also told them that it would be a great 
favor to her if they would try to dispose of it to some 
one else, as circumstances prevented her taking it 
just then.” 

“Do you suppose they have sold it?” inquired 
Farmer Grayson, anxiously. 

“ No, I think not ; I was over at the store this after- 
noon with butter and eggs, and I saw it in the window. 
I asked Mr. Stirling if that was the shawl they had 
purchased for Marcia; he said it was; and I don’t 
think any one would go to select a shawl after night.” 

“ How would it do for you to go over to the village 
in the morning and get it for her?” inquired Mr. 
Grayson. 

“ And let her pay for it when she earns the money ?” 

“ No, indeed ; I will give you the money to get it 
and a little present besides ; she has taught me a lesson 
I do not intend to forget.” 

The next day the shawl was bought and given ; and 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


51 


although it required persuasion to induce Marcia to ac- 
cept the present, yet when she found it was a conscience 
offering she considered it wrong to refuse. 

Harry consulted his father in regard to investing the 
“ Curly” fund, and together such a judicious disposal 
was made of it that not a penny was foolishly spent. 
Two bright little pigs took part of the money, and filled 
“ Curly’s” place in the sty and in Harry’s affections ; 
“ Robinson Crusoe” and a box of stationery took some 
more ; and after several other trifles he had long wished 
for were purchased the balance was laid carefully aside 
to be invested in a calf, which should be Harry’s cow 
when it came to cow’s estate. 

Farmer Grayson did not let the matter rest there. 
Justice had begun at home, but he made up his mind 
that if his counsel was of any avail, it should not stop 
there; so the first time he met with Fred Patton’s 
father, which happened to be at Levering’s mill, he re- 
lated his bit of experience in regard to the conduct of 
farmers toward their sons, and, as Fred Patton told 
Timothy and Harry in confidence that he had changed 
his mind about going to the city, it is to be presumed 
that Farmer Grayson’s homely counsel had some influ- 
ence. 


52 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


CHAPTER Y. 

ANGELS UNAWARES. 

“ Life hath its barren years, 

When blossoms fall untimely down, 

When ripened fruitage fails to crown 
The summer toil, when Nature’s frown 
Looks only on our tears.” 

“ ‘ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby 
some have entertained angels unawares/ Angels un- 
awares,^ ” repeated Grandfather Carleton, slowly and 
reverently, as he arose and laid his old worn Bible on 
the sill of the open window by which he was sitting on 
the porch. 

He was a noble-looking old man; handsome, al- 
though age had dimmed his eye and silvered his hair. 
Without being conscious of it, he formed a component 
part of a beautiful picture that sweet June morning; a 
picture which a passer-by having a love for the beau- 
tiful in his soul would have been constrained to gaze 
upon as long as it remained in view. 

The cool, shady porch, overhung by a weeping-wil- 
low, leafy and fragrant from running vine and cluster- 
ing rose, and the look of thrift and neatness which 
pervaded the place, gave token that Mrs. Carleton’s 
home was the abode of peace and refinement. 

Many hours of each long summer day did Grand- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


53 


father Carleton sit in that porch, gazing dreamily upon 
all the beauty which surrounded him with the serene 
and benignant look of the aged, who, standing upon 
the high table-land between two worlds, views the re- 
ceding form of one which he has loved because his 
Father made it and pronounced it good, but looking 
forward joyfully to the more beautiful one to which he 
is but awaiting his summons. 

“ What did you say, grandfather ?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Carleton from within, in a somewhat querulous voice. 

“ I was only thinking over something I have been 
reading, and repeated it because it was so sweet and 
comforting,” he replied, in his usual gentle tones. 

“ Oh,” replied Mrs. Carleton, in a tone of relief. “ I 
thought you said strangers were coming, and I am sure 
I do not want anybody to-day.” 

“ No, dear, I do not see anybody coming. I was 
just reading, ‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, 
for thereby some have entertained angels unawares/ ” 

“ That is true, grandfather ; but I think I have had 
my share of entertaining this summer, so far, if any^ 
person ever had, and some of them will have to mend 
their ways if they ever hope to be angels, or I am 
much mistaken. I used to love visitors, until I had 
more than I knew what to do with ; and until that 
county fair began to be held so near us, I did not 
know there was so much selfishness in the world.” 

“ Yes, dear,” said the old man, soothingly ; “ but I 
would not mind.” 

“ There, it is nine o’clock,” she thought to herself, 
as the old eight-day clock in the hall rang out the 


54 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


hour. “ I expected to have had all these garments 
mended by this time. I want to make a cherry- 
pudding for dessert, and here are two or three pieces to 
mend yet.” 

“Angels unawares,” came faintly in on the summer 
air, and rising quietly from her chair and looking out, 
Mrs. Carleton saw that her father-in-law had dropped 
asleep, and in his dreams was murmuring the words 
which had occupied his waking thoughts. 

“Poor old grandfather,” thought she; “he is always 
glad to see company; he is just like a child in that 
respect, and I ought to be glad for that reason, if for 
no other, to see everybody. I don’t think I am natu- 
rally stingy or inhospitable, but I do get so tired, and 
good help is so hard to get to assist Fannie. I never 
knew a house that was half-way to everywhere except 
this one, which brings people here just at dinner-time, 
or, what is still more provoking, just after it is over 
and everything eaten up or cold. And then that fair; 
I declare it makes me angry every time I think about 
it ! Everybody must come, so they come by the dozen, 
i because we are so convenient’ ; then, of course, Fannie 
wants to go, and will go too, let who must stay at 
home, and I have to do doable work to let her off ; 
then, what irritates me more than anything else, is to 
have them say while they are tying their bonnet- 
strings, ‘ Why, are you not going to the fair ? and live 
so handy, too !’ just as though I could dress and go to 
fairs, with all the regular work to do and enough 
dishes to set up a china store to put in order. Then 
they don’t seem a bit grateful to me for entertaining 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


55 


them and their unruly children. I declare I don’t 
know how poor old grandfather stood it to have Har- 
riet’s troublesome youngsters dragging him about, 
clambering over him, and digging their elbows into 
his knees, clamoring for stories. I don’t see how Har- 
riet could let them worry her father so, but she sat 
simpering by, never saying a word of rebuke, because 
they were her children, and consequently without 
blemish. It would have done me the most good to 
have given them one good shaking before they left.”. 

It was no meagrely spread dinner-table to which 
Mrs. Carleton and her family sat down that day, or, in 
fact, any other day. The fat and juicy poultry,' crisp, 
fresh vegetables and ripe, luscious fruit were evidence 
that Mrs. Carleton believed in enjoying the benefits to 
be derived from living on a farm, and considered 
herself and family entitled to the best the farm could 
produce. Hot that she looked upon a good table as 
paramount to everything else, but in her opinion it 
required no more time, labor, and capital to raise good 
stock, fruit, and vegetables than poor ones, so the best 
of all was what she aimed to produce. Neither did 
she deem it incumbent upon her to raise these things 
exclusively for other people, and so sell the best and 
keep for her own family only that which was unsal- 
able. 

Timothy had picked the cherries before going to his 
class that morning, and, notwithstanding the mending, 
the cherry-pudding was present in all its golden and 
ruby perfection, and was appreciated after the happy 
manner of the first cherry-pudding of the season. 


56 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“The stage is coming up the lane, mother,” said 
Frank, the younger of the two sons, who was, in 
school-boy fashion, hurrying through his dinner in 
order to make good time in a game of ball before 
school called. 

“ It is Miss Jane Houston, by all that is magnifi- 
cent !” said Rufus, the elder, as he glanced from the 
window at the stage, which had already stopped at the 
gate. “ There she is, pattern-box and all. You are in 
for it now, mother, that is evident. I have seen that 
old pattern-box ever since I was a bald-headed baby, 
and would know it in Patagonia.” 

“You will have to hook her dress for her, and wait 
on her as though she were a queen, Fannie. That is 
what all the girls have to do where she visits,” said 
Frank. “ Then, if you should happen to meet her out 
anywhere, she would not speak to you, because you are 
a ‘servant.’ Would she, mother?” 

“ You might as well make the best of this trying 
dispensation, mother,” said Rufus, laughingly, glan- 
cing at the discomfited face at the head of the table. 
“ I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Porter told me she 
had left the ‘ Home,’ and that we might look for her 
any day.” 

“Poor soul, she is to be pitied,” murmured good old 
Grandfather Carleton. “ Hid you not say something 
about wanting a new gown or something made, 
Ellen ?” 

“ Yes, but not with her old patterns, years behind 
the times. I could not have the conscience to palm off 
such frights upon her and then laugh about it after- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 57 

ward, as I have knowif some persons do. Go to the 
door, Fannie, and invite her into the sitting-room.” 

The boys betook themselves to the shady orchard 
for their noon’s recreation, in which Grace Darling 
took a prominent part. She was the pet and play- 
thing of the whole family, and it was difficult to tell 
which of the boys loved the dog the best. But with 
all the affection shown her by every member of the 
family, her loyal little heart remained faithful to 
Timothy ; only him would she follow, only at his feet 
would she repose. 

In the mean time Mrs. Carleton prepared to meet 
her unexpected, and it must be confessed unwelcome, 
visitor. 

“ Meet her kindly, daughter,” said grandfather, 
taking her hand as she passed him on her way to the 
sitting-room. “You are by nature kind-hearted and 
generous ; hide not your light under a bushel, but let 
it give light to all who are in the house.” 

The rather grotesque figure of Miss Jane Houston, 
as she always styled herself, and required others to 
style her, was seated on the very edge of a chair, her 
eyes fixed on the door she expected her hostess to enter 
with the same wistful, expectant expression often seen 
upon the countenances of dumb creatures; her patterns 
already in her hand, as though hoping by this poor 
little recompense — the only one she had to offer — to 
earn the privilege of tarrying for a little while in her 
pilgrimage through the world. 

She was rather below the medium height, a little 
inclined to stoutness, possessed a pair of rather small 
6 


58 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


blue eyes which her fifty years of dependence had been 
powerless to dim, a fair, clear complexion, with a tinge 
of color in either cheek, yet with these advantages she 
was not pretty ; the forehead was narrow, the eyes too 
close together, and the expression of the mouth, which 
was coarse and ill-shapen, disfigured the whole face. 

She wore her hair trimmed close around her short 
neck, and covered with a black net cap which seemed 
never to require washing or renewing. As for the rest 
of her costume, it was made up of heterogeneous articles 
bestowed upon her by the different persons with whom 
she had sojourned ; but, in spite of the disadvantages 
pertaining to this mode of being clad, her appearance 
was always ladylike and genteel. Her manner and 
accent were French, yet she was born on English soil, 
of English parents, but for more than thirty years had 
been an out-pensioner of the Stars and Stripes. 

She arose upon Mrs. Carleton’s entrance and came 
toward her, her elbows partly raised, and with a flap- 
wing motion indigenous to Miss Jane Houston and 
nobody else, and in a puffy, wheezy voice, which Mrs. 
Carleton had always averred was the most disagreeable 
sound in the world, said, hurriedly, — 

“ I did not know but you were out ; I got the stage- 
driyer to stop at Mrs. General Porter’s and at Mrs. 
Colonel Hoyt’s, but both ladies, unfortunately, were out, 
so I thought I would spend a little while with you, 
and help you with your summer outfit.” 

The “ word in season” of Grandfather Carleton had 
fallen upon good soil; it sprang up, blossomed, and 
bore fruit in the short journey between the two rooms; 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


59 


and Mrs. Carleton extended to Miss Jane a more cor- 
dial welcome than she had ever before vouchsafed her, 
under the unexpected stimulus of which Miss Jane’s 
spirits revived, like wilted grass under a summer shower. 
Mrs. Carleton had met her kindly, and Miss Jane knew 
by years of eleemosynary experience that anything in 
the shape of a welcome was everything ; let her but get 
a foothold, and all the rest was plain sailing. 

u Will you step into the dining-room and have some 
dinner, Miss Jane?” asked Mrs. Carleton, kindly. 

“ Thank you, I shall be glad to ; I expected to dine 
with Mrs. General Porter or Mrs. Colonel Hoyt, but 
as neither of those ladies were at home, I shall be glad 
to pay you a visit. I can go there some other time.” 

Now Mrs. Carleton knew that Mrs. Porter would 
not have been out to anybody but Miss Jane Houston ; 
and as for Mrs. Hoyt, Mrs. Carleton and Mrs. Porter 
were invited to take tea with her that very evening, so 
it was not likely she was out either ; but if Miss Jane 
did not suspect, why enlighten her ? 

“ These peas are so delicious,” commented Miss Jane 
a few moments afterwards, as she helped herself boun- 
tifully for the second time. She had been so long 
compelled to push her way, that what most of her 
entertainers denounced as her impudence she considered 
but a proper consideration for her own wants. 

“ I am invited out to tea this afternoon, Miss Jane,” 
remarked Mrs. Carleton, as she and her guest adjourned 
to the porch, where Grandfather Carleton was already 
asleep in his arm-chair ; “ I hope you will excuse my 
going, as I received the invitation before you came.” 


60 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“Oh, certainly; do not make a stranger of me, I 
pray. I will take a little sleep this afternoon, and shall 
enjoy myself during your absence, I know.” 

“You have a visitor, have you not?” remarked Mrs. 
Hoyt, as soon as her visitors were seated in her cool 
and pleasant parlor. “ I watched the stage after it left 
the village, and saw it turn into your lane.” 

“ It stopped at yours, too, I was informed ; but as 
you were not at home, I came in second best,” answered 
Mrs. Carleton, pleasantly. 

“She called at our house also,” remarked Mrs. 
Porter ; “ but I have not a particle of sympathy for 
her since she returned from the 1 Home/ Just to 
think, when a good, quiet place was provided for her, 
where she could have ended her days, her entrance-fee 
collected without any trouble or exertion to herself, 
she left in three weeks, because her room was next to 
a woman who had worked for her support.” 

“Yes, she told me of that while she was taking her 
dinner,” said Mrs. Carleton ; “ but she did not give 
that as the cause of her leaving. She said the confined 
life would have killed her ; she never drew a contented 
breath while she was there. She said she could not 
endure the society of the other inmates, she felt so 
superior to them.” 

“ Indeed ! and what is she but a pauper, pray ?” said 
Mrs. Porter, warmly. “ It appears to me I would 
endure anything where I felt I had a right, rather than 
put up with the sneers and slights she receives from 
everybody; that is, if she ever feels them.” 

“ I have about come to the conclusion that she has 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


61 


neither feeling nor honest pride in her composition, or 
she would be too independent to sponge around where 
she is not wanted,” said Mrs. Hoyt. 

“ Yet she has her good properties,” remarked Mrs. 
Carleton ; “ her principles are sound. I never heard 
of her repeating in one house anything that transpired 
in another ; she is extremely cautious in that respect.” 

“ Yes, I grant she is harmless, but so worthless. I 
really do not see what she is on earth for only to bothei 
people.” 

“ Well, I suppose we should make some allowance 
for the way she has been trained,” interposed a sister 
of Mrs. Hoyt, who was staying with her, and whom 
she had invited Mrs. Carleton and Mrs. Porter to meet. 

“ Fiddlestick ! who knows how she has been trained ? 
We only have her story for it, and we know her whole 
conversation runs on property and how she is kept out 
of it by her uncle, whom she says was her guardian, 
and of her expectation of getting it soon ; and we all 
know how much dependence to put in that.” 

“ Yes, but she is truthful,” exclaimed Mrs. Carle- 
ton. “ Mrs. Archibald Levering once told me that her 
brother, Dr. Harkness, who lives in St. Louis, was 
well acquainted with Miss Jane’s uncle and his family, 
and that they certainly live in great style ; and it is the 
impression with many persons there that it is upon his 
niece’s money, of which he, as her guardian, robbed 
her.” 

u Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Porter, doubtfully; 
“ I only know that the President and the governor, and 
all the rest of the government dignitaries have had 

6 * 


62 


TIMOTEY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


their surfeit of petitions. I guess they just laugh at 
her and let the matter end where it began.” 

“ But how does she travel in cars and steamboats and 
stages free of charge ?” said Mrs. Hoyt. “ I never 
heard of anybody else being so favored.” 

“How does she creep into our homes and stay as 
long as she pleases? I never heard of anybody in- 
viting her, nor of anybody turning her out when they 
get tired of her. And, then, it must be the best places, 
too ; no shoddy or poverty for her ; she must go where 
there is somebody to wait on her, and she does get 
waited on, too, although the girls themselves know that 
she would not speak to them if she met them out.” 

“ I must say I was amused the last time she visited 
me,” said Mrs. Hoyt. “ She had heard me say I was 
fond of ginger-cakes, and never could meet with any 
that tasted like those we had when I was a child. She 
urged me to let Gretchen bake some from a recipe Mrs. 
Senator somebody or other had given her, for she never 
knows anybody but big-bugs. I let Gretchen bake 
the cakes, and they were really excellent, as far as I 
could judge by the taste I got. They were baked one 
afternoon. I ate one at tea that evening, and she ate 
the balance before the next tea-time.” 

“ But, does she never sew ?” inquired the sister, who 
had but slight knowledge of Miss Jane and her attri- 
butes. 

“ Oh, yes, she always asks for it, and insists upon 
having it,” replied Mrs. Porter ; “ but, dear me, it is 
a perfect martyrdom to see her sew. It appears to me 
she cannot settle herself long enough to accomplish 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


63 


anything worth talking about, and the consequence is 
one gets sick and tired of seeing the garment lying 
about. She made a dress for Maud the three months 
she stayed with us last winter, and I vow I thought 
the child would outgrow it before it was finished. It 
had three ruffles on it, to be sure, and was really a 
curiosity, it was so beautifully made; but there was 
not a nook nor cranny about the house where shreds 
and scraps of that dress could not have been found 
during its construction.” 

Miss Jane was promenading up and down the lawn 
path, halting every now and then to cull some flower 
that pleased her fancy, when Mrs. Carleton reached 
home that evening. 

“ Have had a most delightful afternoon,” she averred. 
“ I slept until nearly tea-time, then dressed for tea ; 
* since then have been enjoying this labyrinth of sweets. 
I hope you had a pleasant visit, Mrs. Carleton.” 

“ Very pleasant, indeed.” 

“And did Mrs. General Porter or Mrs. Colonel 
Hoyt inquire for me ? I am sure they did, for we are 
such old friends.” 

“ I believe they did,” faltered Mrs. Carleton. “ But 
had we better not go in the house, Miss Jane? the 
evening air grows chilly.” 

“ Perhaps we had,” replied Miss Jane, in a depressed 
tone; and while Mrs. Carleton went to lay aside her 
bonnet and gloves she took a chair at the side of 
Grandfather Carleton on the porch, and commenced 
from the beginning to inform him of her disappoint- 
ments and hopes in regard to her property. 


64 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ But my prospects are better now than they have 
been for a long time,” she said, in conclusion. “ I have 
just returned from Washington, where I went to obtain 
legal advice in regard to my property, and two mem- 
bers of Congress have given me their best wishes for its 
recovery, and have promised to use their best endeavors 
to aid me to obtain it. They say it is really too bad 
that I have been kept out of it so long ; so I am living 
in hourly expectation of a messenger from my uncle in 
St. Louis telling me that he has given my property 
back to me.” 

“ I hope you will be so fortunate ; I hope so, indeed, 
Miss Jane; you have my very best wishes also,” replied 
Grandfather Carleton. 

“ Thank you ! you are very kind. I have so many 
kind friends. Good-night.” 

An hour after every member of the family except 
Mrs. Carleton had retired to rest, in passing Miss 
Jane’s door, her footsteps were arrested by the sound of 
suppressed but bitter weeping. Spellbound she stood, 
revolving in her mind what was best to be done. 
Should she enter, ask the cause, and try to comfort? 
Would it not be looked upon as an intrusion? She 
feared so, and yet she could not bear to think of sorrow 
under her roof and make no effort to alleviate it. 
Knocking gently, and softly calling Miss Jane’s name, 
she waited admission. 

A few moments of delay and the door opened, and 
Mrs. Carleton was politely bidden to enter. 

Miss Jane was too well-bred to show any sign of 
surprise at the ill-timed visit; apparently all her 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


65 


thoughts were bent upon entertaining her visitor. It 
seemed as though her opportunities for showing hospi- 
tality had always been so limited that she was gratified 
with this chance of evincing it. The most comfortable 
chair in the room was drawn up for her guest, while 
she took another, with her back to the light. 

Her open Bible and prayer-book were lying upon 
the table, beside which she had evidently been sit- 
ting. Her black net cap had been removed and care- 
fully hung upon a chair-back, and Mrs. Carleton 
seeing her for the first time in her life without it, 
could not help noticing how careworn and haggard 
she looked. 

Hot the least allusion to her sorrow did Miss Jane 
make, and Mrs. Carleton could not introduce the sub- 
ject, so her call consisted in merely ascertaining that 
Miss Jane was fixed comfortably for the night, that 
she should not disturb herself to rise early in the 
morning, and then — good-night ! 

Then Mrs. Carleton went to her own room, lay 
awake the best part of the night, and pondered. 
“ Was this dark hour an unusual occurrence with the 
poor wanderer, or was it but one of many? the 
cheerful every-day manner but a veil to hide the ever 
sad and desolate heart ?” Mrs. Carleton resolved to 
watch her guest narrowly the ensuing morning, and see 
if the night-time conflict left any token by which she 
could judge. 

As for herself, she would try to make her more 
welcome than she had ever done. It was possible that 
the bread of dependence might be bitter to even Miss 


66 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

Jane Houston ; she would do all in her power to 
render it less so. Toward morning she dropped into a 
troubled slumber, and when they met at breakfast no 
one would have supposed by Miss Jane’s manner that 
she had wept herself to sleep. 

“ If she would only be a little more humble,” said 
Mrs. Carleton to grandfather a few weeks afterward, 
“ I could have more sympathy for her and exert myself 
to make her feel welcome ; instead of that, she takes 
everything as a matter of course and as her due. I 
would like to see her grateful and make some acknowl- 
edgment of her dependence.” 

One evening, Timothy, who had been to the village 
post-office, returned with the mail, which, contrary to 
the usual allowance, consisted of but one newspaper, 
and that was the Morning Telegram , the first copy 
Timothy had seen since he had left the city. 

The boy was in fine spirits that evening, as indeed 
he was at all times ; he felt that he had such an excel- 
lent home, was leading such a happy life, was enjoying 
such perfect health, and Cousin Melie had said that 
very day that she never had a pupil who learned so 
fast and retained all he acquired. 

Mrs. Carleton was training a refractory rose up the 
lattice-work of the porch, wherein w r ere seated grand- 
father and Miss Jane, as Timothy, with Grace Darling 
frolicking and barking by his side, came up the 
gravelled walk. Miss Jane looked paler than usual, 
and her eyes had a far-away, dim look, as though they 
had shed many tears. 

As Timothy drew near he could not resist the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 67 

temptation to echo his old-time cry, “ Here’s your 
Morning Telegram ! Only two cents !” 

Miss Jane looked at the boy narrowly, and then 
appeared lost in thought. 

“ There was an old lady,” said she, as grandfather 
opened the paper, wondering at the same time who 
could have sent it — “ there was an old lady at the 
‘Home* when I was there who used to talk a good 
deal about ‘ Timothy’ and the Morning Telegram.” 

Timothy’s face glowed with surprise and joy. 
“ Please tell me her name,” he said. 

“They called her Granny; that is all I knew of 
her,” she replied, a little stiffly. “ She never talked to 
me, of course ; I only overheard her with others ; her 
room was next to mine.” 

Timothy had been faithful in his attentions to Miss 
Jane, as indeed he ever was to any guest of Mrs. 
Carleton ; had made innumerable inquiries at the post- 
office for letters for her, which never came ; had 
brought her glasses of water whenever requested, no 
matter how inconvenient the time ; had gathered her 
a bouquet of wild-flowers every time he returned from 
taking grain to Levering’s mill ; had even brushed her 
shoes ; yet she had never condescended to speak to him, 
except to utter a command. But something in the boy’s 
countenance prompted her to take an interest in telling 
him all she could of the woman, whom Timothy could 
not doubt was Granny Edmonds. 

It appeared that Mrs. Longman, whom Timothy had 
helped to surprise once upon a time, had seen an account 
of the fire in Hammer’s Alley, and having taken the 


68 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


address of all the newsboys that evening of the party, 
had called next day, and upon inquiry at the house 
adjoining the burned tenement, found that granny and 
Timothy had been taken to the hospital. As soon as 
she could, she paid it a visit, but Timothy was gone. 
She called again and again to see granny, and her 
heart was moved in compassion for the helpless, 
homeless creature, and as soon as she was able to be 
moved, Mrs. Longman enlisted the sympathies of 
some ladies, who procured her admission into that 
noble institution, “The Aged Woman’s Home.” 

Timothy listened with rapt attention, his heart 
expanding with thankfulness; and in the fulness of 
his joy he took Miss Jane’s soft white hand in his 
and pressed his lips upon it with as much reverence as 
though it were that of a queen. 

The glorious summer waned into hazy autumn, and 
still Miss Jane lingered. It appeared as though she 
lacked energy to make a start. A change had come 
over her in these months, — not speedy nor startling, 
but still there was a change. She was cheerful as ever 
when awake, but she slept so much, she was so languid, 
so weary. 

She ceased to speak of the property which was hers by 
right ; for weeks her uncle’s name had not passed her 
lips. Each morning her rising was delayed a little 
longer, and one bright morning in October, her last on 
earth, she was too weak to rise. Few outside that 
family circle knew, or cared to know, that her pil- 
grimage was nearly finished. 

“She was not ill, only tired,” she averred, when 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


69 


Mrs. Carleton begged to be allowed to send for her 
family physician, Dr. Linthicum ; she wanted only to 
be alone with them. 

“ Thank God !” she murmured, lifting her fast dim- 
ming eyes to heaven, “ my wanderings are nearly over. 
I am going /tome, and none but those who are homeless 
can appreciate that dear name as it deserves. You 
have all been so kind to me/’ she continued, gazing at 
the sorrowing ones around her, among whom was 
Timothy, weeping silently. “ I have prayed God to 
reward you all, and I feel sure that he will. If you 
ever see my uncle, tell him I forgive him for betray- 
ing the trust reposed in him, forgive him for my 
blighted life. I tried to forget it, and live as though 
I had no expectations, but I could not ; I was always 
waiting — waiting. Perhaps it was best that I never 
had my share of life’s benefits, but hope deferred has 
been very, very bitter.” 

A pause of exhaustion followed. Mrs. Carleton 
bathed her damp forehead with bay-water, and admin- 
istered a spoonful of cordial. 

“ I have nothing to bequeath,” whispered Miss Jane, 
smiling sadly, “ nothing to recompense you all for your 
kindness to me ; only one little token of gratitude can 
I leave you,” said she, pressing Mrs. Carleton’s hand, — 
“ my prayer-book ; take it with the blessing of the 
desolate one you have befriended. My Bible is for 
Timothy ; read it, dear boy, faithfully and prayerfully : 
it has been my only solace in this vale of tears. Bid 
my friends farewell for me. I tried to be patient, and 
not envy those who had home and friends, and at 
7 


70 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


whose firesides I felt I was not needed or wanted, but 
it is all done with at last.” 

If one were endeavoring merely to tell a pleasing 
story, the false and recreant uncle should have been 
allowed to die before this time, and his last hours be 
rendered so harrowing, that to ease his conscience he 
was compelled to make restitution of his ill-gotten 
gains ; but, being a real experience, it can only be re- 
corded that he did die a very short time after Miss 
Jane’s demise : he died surrounded not only by every 
luxury, but by loving sons and daughters, who inher- 
ited his property. 

It would also have been gratifying to have known 
that Mrs. Carleton and her family were amply re- 
warded for their disinterested kindness to his forlorn 
relative ; but it can only be said that in God’s own 
time and manner it cannot be doubted her prayers for 
them were answered. As for themselves, they felt 
amply recompensed in the deep and abiding happiness 
they enjoyed in believing that they had entertained an 
angel, though not altogether unawares. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


71 


CHAPTER VI. 

ARCHIBALD LEVERING, AND HIS SON’S WIDOW. 

“ Sometimes it happens, too, 

A plain bird is more beautful 
Than one of gorgeous hue.” 

And so it had really come to pass. The hopes and 
plans of many months were about to bear fruit ; the 
Bryors had moved out of the brownstone front, and 
the Leverings were on the eve of moving in. 

The mansion in question was a handsome residence, 
and on a pleasant street, although but a few squares 
from Hammer’s Alley, where stood the tenement-house, 
the home of Timothy. 

Strange, when the long-wished-for prize was at length 
in her possession, that Mrs. Levering, sitting alone by 
her smouldering kitchen-range hours after the rest of 
the family were, she supposed, wrapped in peaceful 
slumber, should be shedding the bitterest tears she had 
ever shed in her whole life. She had exerted herself 
that day beyond her strength, and much of her de- 
pression might have been attributed to that cause, yet 
her comfortable couch was the very last place she 
wished to seek. She recoiled from the feverish wake- 
fulness and restless turning of the past two nights, and 
could not summon resolution to encounter a third. She 
even caught herself wishing that the brownstone front 


72 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


would take fire and burn down before morning, thus 
saving her the mortifications she prophesied would 
follow her taking possession. 

The clock on the kitchen mantel had tolled eleven, 
and she had just sobbed herself into that brooding 
quietness which showed that her thoughts had wan- 
dered for a season from her troubles to other and 
pleasanter themes, when the click of the door-latch 
aroused her, and we must confess alarmed her also ; 
for Mrs. Levering was by no means a brave woman, 
and this night in particular she was unusually nervous 
and timid. She turned a pair of rather frightened 
eyes toward the door, which was slowly but surely 
opening, as she scanned its full length with fast beating 
heart. Her relief was great indeed when, instead of 
the burly form and rough visage of the burglar she 
feared to see, the white-robed figure of her little son 
Archie came blinkingly toward her. 

“ Why, Archie, my dear boy, what is the matter ? 
How did you know I was down here ?” said she, slip- 
ping her moist handkerchief in her pocket and holding 
her hand out to him. 

“ Because I have not been asleep. I could not go to 
sleep for thinking. Let me stay down here with you, 
mother, do.” 

Mrs. Levering could not resist this humble appeal ; 
moreover, she was so miserable herself that it was com- 
forting to have even this frail staff to lean upon, so her 
remonstrance was feeble. 

“ But, Archie, we should both be in bed this minute ; 
to-morrow with its sorrows and cares will soon be here, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


73 


and I have very little strength to .meet it; but we will 
be separated so soon, my precious boy, so come and sit 
here a moment, and tell me what has kept you from 
sleep.” 

Archie came quickly forward and took the stool at 
his mother’s feet; resting an arm on her lap, he pressed 
one of the long curls which had escaped from her comb 
to his lips. 

“ Mother, what kind of a man is my grandfather?” 

Mrs. Levering started. By what subtle agency had 
her son been made cognizant of the subject of her 
musings, and had come at that moment to know the 
result ? She could not, for any consideration, have told 
him her real opinion of her father-in-law, yet he had 
been the subject of her thoughts ever since she had 
given her consent for Archie to live with him, her 
husband’s death having left her with three children to 
provide for, of whom Archie was the eldest. 

“ I can scarcely tell you, my son,” replied she, slowly. 
“ You know I never lived with your grandfather, and 
it is said you must winter and summer with persons 
before you really know them.” 

“But how did you like him when you used to go out 
there? You said you were there when I was a baby; 
why have you never gone since I can remember ? say, 
mother ; I never thought of it before.” 

“Your grandfather was never quite satisfied with 
me, Archie. I had always lived in the city, and knew 
nothing of country work and country customs; and, 
what was worse in his eyes, I did not care to learn ; he 
could not overlook that.” 


7 * 


74 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“Did he ever say anything to father about it?” said 
Archie, softly. 

“ Your father never told me that he did, but he could 
not fail to see that his father was dissatisfied with me.” 

“I expect he will not be satisfied with me, either,” 
said Archie, after a pause; “for I have always lived 
in the city, and know nothing of country work or 
ways.” 

“You are but a little boy, Archie. Your grand- 
father will not expect much of you ; not as much, I 
hope, as he did of your father at your age.” 

“ Jerry Murry says I will have to shell corn, and 
feed chickens, and drive cows to pasture, and all such 
things, for that is what boys do in the country. I will 
like to do that, but oh, mother, I wish you were going, 
too! I will be so lonely without you. Why does 
grandfather want you to stay here and keep a stingy 
old boarding-house ?” 

With all her sorrow and anxiety, Mrs. Levering 
could not restrain a smile at the earnestness of her boy, 
but it was quickly followed by a sigh. 

“Your grandfather knows I must do something to 
support myself and your little sisters, and he thinks 
that taking boarders is the best thing I can do.” 

They both remained buried in thought for a time, 
the silence being at length broken by Archie. 

“ But, mother, you must have liked him, or you would 
not have named me for him ; such an ugly name, too, 
— Archibald ; the boys all make fun of it.” 

“ Your father named you, my dear. It is an old- 
time name, to be sure, but when it is softened to 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


75 


Archie it is really very pretty. He did it to gratify 
his father. He was always respectful to him, and I 
hope you will follow his example.” 

“ I am polite to polite people,” said the boy, sturdily. 
u Grandfather is not very polite to me ; he says all I 
am good for is to whistle and to tear my clothes.” 

“ He has not been enough with you to have an in- 
terest in you, my son. Try and do your duty by him 
in every way, just as you would have done with your 
father had he lived, and God will incline his heart to 
love you, I am sure.” 

“ Grandmother has an interest in me, and loves me, 
too. Oh, mother, I am glad she is there ! It is next 
best to having you.” 

“ Your grandmother is one of the best women that 

ever lived. How she has ever endured Archie !” 

she said, suddenly recollecting that she was speaking of 
her dead husband’s father to that husband’s son, “ we 
must really go to bed, or morning will be here, and 
your grandfather with it, before we are aware of it.” 

Archie arose and proceeded as far as the door, fol- 
lowed by Mrs. Levering, when he thought of another 
question. 

“ Do you think, mother, he will ever let me go fish- 
ing in his creek, or catch rabbits in snares, or gather 
nuts for winter ? Jerry Murry says that is what he did 
in the country.” 

“ I have heard your father say that your grandfather 
was very strict with him when a boy, and gave him 
very little time for play. Some persons get more strict 
as they grow older ; some get more indulgent. I can- 


76 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


not tell how it is with him now in regard to children ; 
but I doubt not there will be little odds and ends of 
time which you can have to yourself. And now, dear 
son,” she continued, as they reached his little white- 
robed bed, “ mother will kiss you and tuck you in for 
the second time this evening. Good-night, my precious 
boy, good-night !” 

She kissed him several times, murmured a loving 
lullaby over him, then sought her own couch and wept 
until dawn. 

Before proceeding further a retrospective glance must 
be taken, in order to understand why it was that Mrs. 
Levering, after being so eager to occupy the brownstone 
front, should now have so entirely changed her mind 
in regard to it. It was only another evidence of the 
changes a few weeks, or even hours, will sometimes 
make in one’s destiny. 

The dwelling in question had been owned by a 
wealthy man named Bryor, who had upon his death- 
bed willed it to his two sons in such a manner that not 
only a lawsuit was the result, but a lifelong estrange- 
ment between the brothers. 

The boys had been educated at the Dorton Academy, 
and while students there, Richard Bryor, the younger 
of the two, met and loved Miss Sarah Ogilvie, of 
“Ogilvie’s Pride,” the handsome villa near Dorton. 
Mark Bryor, who was several years older than Richard, 
also met a young girl to whom he gave his best 
affections; but his parents’ opposition was so violent, 
and his habit of obedience so strong, that he was con- 
strained to sacrifice his happiness to their wishes. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


77 


Reserved and silent by nature, he became more so 
after this disappointment, and in order to induce him 
to forget the rural maiden, his father arranged with a 
mercantile friend to have him sent to Europe upon a 
business tour for the firm. After completing the 
commission intrusted to him, Mark, apparently having 
no encouragement to come home, remained abroad, only 
returning after receiving news of his father’s death. 

In the mean time, Richard had married Miss Ogilvie, 
and his mother having died the first year of Mark’s 
absence from his native land, Richard brought his wife 
to his father’s house, and there they remained until the 
death of Mr. Bryor. This was followed by the lawsuit, 
which was won by Mark, and Richard Bryor and his 
family were compelled to leave the brownstone front. 
It appeared that pursuit was better than possession in 
Mark Bryor’s eyes, for he cared so little for the 
place that, as soon as it was legally his, he sold it, 
having bought a farm near the village of Dorton, and 
adjoining that of Mrs. Carleton. In this way David 
Levering, then a rising young lawyer, considering it a 
safe investment, had become the purchaser of the brown- 
stone front. 

Mrs. Levering was delighted; it was a handsomer 
house by far than any of those owned by her acquaint- 
ances, and all her energies were bent upon saving from 
their rather limited income to furnish it properly when 
the time should come to take possession, when, alas ! 
just a few weeks before Mr. Richard Bryor moved out, 
David Levering died, leaving poor Mrs. Levering and 
her three children to battle with the world alone. 


78 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Her mother-in-law, a gentle, meek-tempered woman, 
came at the first note of distress, — as she always had 
done since her son David had married and left her, — 
and stayed as long as she felt she was sorely needed. 
Archibald Levering came to the funeral, entering his 
daughter-in-law’s house for the first time since she had 
been his daughter-in-law, and departed with the others 
who had come to pay the last tribute of respect to the 
remains of his only son. 

Mrs. Levering never could tell how she lived through 
the first few weeks following her husband’s death. She 
had been so shocked by the sudden bereavement that 
she had but little thought for anything beyond, and 
was sitting one rainy morning by one of the windows 
in the nursery, with her babe upon her lap, looking 
absently^at the watery streets, idly tapping the window 
to amuse the infant, and thinking — thinking. The 
dampness of the morning had tempted her pliant 
hair into many little curling tendrils, which gave an 
even more youthful look to her sweet, expressive face. 
Her dress of sombre black, unrelieved by hint of color, 
her fair complexion and slight, graceful figure, were 
set off to the best advantage by the rich background of 
the crimson plush chair in which she reclined. 

She had heard a ring at the hall-door a few moments 
before, and had heard the servant admit a visitor. She 
had seen her father-in-law’s old-fashioned carriage pass 
up the street at an early hour that morning, therefore 
was not surprised to hear the sound of a cane ascending 
the steps and the firm, even tread along the hall which 
led to the nursery, betokening the appearance of Archi- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


79 


bald Levering. He opened the door without the 
preliminary knock, which with other social amenities 
and courtesies Mrs. Levering had ceased long ago to 
expect from her husband’s father, and stood hat on 
head on the threshold. 

He was of medium size, with clear, cold blue eyes, 
and with that fair, smooth complexion peculiar to 
persons of his calling. His hair, also, had been light 
in color and abundant, but was now thin and of a 
yellowish white, and hung straggling, though perfectly 
smooth and well kept, over the velvet collar of his 
coat. In fact, his whole appearance, though out of 
date, being at least thirty years behind the times, was 
neat and trim. 

His attire was the suit of blue broadcloth bought 
for his wedding, and which since then had known 
neither change nor repair. The brass buttons, of which 
there was a liberal supply, might have been a little 
dimmer, the color of the cloth a shade paler, the waist 
of the coat a few inches too short for the prevailing 
style, even in his own estimation ; but notwithstanding 
all this, to Archibald Levering it was all that was 
required. It was donned for funerals and upon his 
rare visits to the city, and upon his return home was 
carefully brushed and restored to its wonted peg in the 
spare bedroom closet by his patient wife, Mercy. 

The hat which he had not yet removed was a tall 
silk one, also bought for his wedding, but which showed 
even more signs of antiquity than the suit of blue, 
although most of its days were spent in the parlor 
cupboard of his home, carefully wrapped in the red 


80 , TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

bandanna handkerchief which, when the hat was in use, 
lightly reposed upon the crown of the wearer. 

That hat had been worn to his son’s funeral, and the 
neighbors and acquaintances of the bereaved widow had 
not yet ceased laughing at its antiquated appearance. 
In fact, the whole make-up of the old man had pro- 
voked many mirthful though good-natured comments, 
which, if they had been repeated to him, would not 
have cost him anything more than a passing sneer at 
the empty-headed ness and frivolity of his critics. 

In his youth he might have been handsome; his 
features were finely chiselled, and his expression was 
open and intelligent; but he appeared like one who 
had lived through some early sorrow, which he had 
never made an effort to conquer, but had allowed it 
to form a background to all his after-life, casting its 
sombre shade over every bright and pleasant thing, 
and because of the magnitude which he accorded it 
rendering all else in life only something to be en- 
dured. 

He was utterly indifferent to the world and its 
opinions ; so indifferent, indeed, that he was oblivious 
to the fact that he was looked upon as eccentric and 
singular by his neighbors and friends. Solitary by 
nature, and rendered more so by the circumstances of 
his life, he sought no society and apparently wished 
for none. The clatter of his grist-mill was all the 
company he desired through the day, and a book on 
agriculture or geology all he appeared to require for 
his evenings. Narrow-minded and arbitrary he cer- 
tainly was; but those who had dealings with him 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


81 


found him truthful, single-minded, and honest as the 
day. 

“The girl down-stairs told me you were alone, 
Amanda,” said he, as his daughter-in-law arose to 
welcome him, “and I was glad to hear it; for I want 
to have a talk with you about business, and I did not 
want any of your quality visitors dawdling around.” 

Mrs. Levering was a little startled at the word 
“ business,” as in truth she would have been at any 
proposition coming from her father-in-law; but she 
replied mechanically, as she offered him a rocking- 
chair, which he waved aside, and took a plain Windsor 
instead, — 

“Very well, father; let me take your hat and cane.” 

There was no reply, neither did he make any move 
to remove his hat or relinquish his cane, so Mrs. Lev- 
ering quietly resumed her seat, and awaited develop- 
ments. 

“How much money had David about him at the 
time of his death ?” he asked, abruptly. 

“ Do you mean how much did he have in the house?” 
she inquired. 

“ Certainly, I mean just that,” he said, grimly. 

“Very little; I believe he kept it at his office, or at 
the bank, or somewhere,” she answered, vaguely. 

“Do you know anything about his business?” he 
continued. “ Did he ever consult you about it?” 

“ No, very little ; never that I remember of, except 
about buying the house.” 

“And you never took any interest in it?” said her 
father-in-law, deprecatingly ; “just went blindly on, 
8 


82 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


living from hand to mouth, and with no more care for 
the future than the birds of the air.” 

“I supposed my husband was perfectly competent 
to attend to his affairs,” replied Mrs. Levering, a little 
petulantly. “ He never asked my advice, and I did 
not know it was needed. How should I ?” 

A silence followed. Her visitor rested his crossed 
hands upon the head of his cane, and gazed gloomily 
into the glowing grate. Mrs. Levering gazed steadily 
from the window at the streaming rain. 

“ You play on the piano, Amanda,” said Mr. Lev- 
ering, arousing from his revery. “ Do you think you 
could earn your living by it?” 

“ I do not imagine I shall be called upon to do any- 
thing of the kind, father. I suppose we will go on 
living as we have done heretofore.” 

He looked at her as one might regard a perverse 
child. 

“ You have not answered me, Amanda; I want you 
to think, and tell me exactly what you can do in that 
way.” 

“ I can play pretty well, father, and had intended 
teaching our children myself, so as to save David from 
paying for lessons,” she said, with a sob, as the thought 
of her lonely widowhood came over her. 

u So you do not know enough to teach other people’s 
children ?” he said, almost sadly, as she endeavored to 
check her tears. 

“ I do, if they would only think so ; but every one 
wants experienced teachers for their children, and you 
know I am not that.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


83 


“Could you earn anything by making these gim- 
cracks women nowadays waste their time on?” said 
he, pointing with his cane to the tidies and other fancy 
articles which ornamented the room. 

“ I do not suppose any person would care to pay 
much for what I could make,” replied she, more for 
the sake of giving an answer than for any interest she 
took in the conversation. “ My work would be con- 
sidered very plain by persons who do such things for 
money.” 

u Could you teach school ?” 

Mrs. Levering, patient by nature and trained from 
childhood to respect her elders, was growing restive 
under this avalanche of questions. 

“ Really, father, I do not know what I could do if 
there were necessity for it; but school-teaching would 
be the very last thing I would do. I have a good 
enough education, I suppose, but I could not stand 
competition with those who are trained to it ; besides, I 
dislike it.” 

“ It is no use to ask you about housework,” said he, 
glancing at the small white hands, from which the 
rings had been removed, and a solitary mourning band 
taken their place. “ What do you think of doing ?” 

“ Mr. Bryor’s family left several weeks ago ; so we 
will move into our house shortly, and my mother, who 
since my father’s death has no one with her but the 
servants, will come to live with us. She will bring 
only her maid, which will be sufficient, she thinks, with 
the servants we have, for a larger establishment than 
either is now keeping alone.” 


84 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“Do you know how much David paid on the 
house ?” 

“I heard him say once that he did not pay much. 
One day when mamma was here they were talking 
about it, and she went his security, or on his paper or 
something.” 

“ Yes, and will lose every dollar of it for her pains,” 
said Mr. Levering, roughly. 

Mrs. Levering was aroused at last. 

“ What did you say, father ? Why will she lose it ? 
The house is still there.” 

“ Amanda, you did not ask my advice nor assistance 
in this matter, and I suppose you did not want it ; but 
your husband was my son, and I cannot help but feel 
an interest in his children. I heard his affairs were 
crippled, so made it my business to inquire into them. 
I employed a lawyer to ferret it out, and find, after all 
the debts have been paid, you will not have a dollar. 
Your mother, it seems, has been going on his paper 
ever since he was married, and let me tell you he had 
no more business to buy that house than I would have 
to buy Niagara Falls for a water-power for my mill ; 
the consequence is she, like yourself, is not worth a 
dollar.” 

The color had been slowly receding from Mrs. Lev- 
ering’s face while her father-in-law had been speaking, 
and when the last word dropped from his lips her eyes 
closed, and Mr. Levering had only time to spring for- 
ward and take the infant from her unresisting arms ere 
she fell back in a deep swoon. 

“Well, women do beat all nature!” said he, almost 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


85 


angrily. “One minute chipper and independent as 
you please, and the next lying around like dead weeds. 
Now, what is to be done ?” 

The brilliant scarlet and green bell-cord hung within 
reach of his hand ; but bell-cords and bells played but 
little part in Archibald Levering’s home-spun exist- 
ence. If he had noticed it at all, it was coupled in his 
mind with the tidies and other “ gimcracks” which met 
his view on every side, all of which he denominated as 
“ trash,” of neither beauty nor use. He seized his cane 
and gave several resounding raps on the nursery floor 
to summon assistance, but they only served to alarm 
the infant, who set up a terrified scream, without bring- 
ing any of the servants, who, not being accustomed to 
being summoned in this primitive manner, were chat- 
ting and flirting on the area steps with the coachman 
next door, in blissful ignorance that they were wanted. 

In the mean time, Mr. Levering was doing what 
little he knew in the way of reviving the unconscious 
woman. His wife, Mercy, had never fainted in her 
life, weak, nervous woman though she was ; and Hesba, 
his maiden sister, had nerves as strong as her will, and 
that was saying much for them, so his experience was 
limited. In the emergency he was compelled to do 
something, so he clapped her soft hands between his 
hard palms, raised the window, and fanned her with 
an almanac that happened to be within reach ; then, as 
a new thought struck him, went to the washstand and 
% returned with a glass of water, with which he bathed 
her pallid face. 

He was at his wit’s end, and was on the point of 
8 * 


86 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


leaving her to summon assistance, when she opened 
her eyes and feebly reached out for her wailing babe. 
Mr. Levering quickly raised it from the floor, where he 
had placed it in his perplexity, and restored it to her 
arms, and with a sigh of relief resumed his chair and 
took his cane. 

He had no love for his daughter-in-law ; in his heart 
he looked upon her as a “ useless affair,” and the last 
woman he would have selected as a wife for his son, 
had he wished him to marry at all, which he did not ; 
but now, as he saw her so wan and so subdued, for the 
moment he relented toward her, and a ray of compas- 
sion stole into his chilled heart ; one beam of sympathy 
and pity for her who had for a few years walked beside 
the only being on earth who, until she crossed his path, 
had never given him a pang of disappointment. 


CHAPTER VII. 
a lawyer’s advice. 

“ If wise thou art, take counsel of the wise ; 

Mayhap his views from thine divergent run ; 

Yet, shouldst thou use his wisdom, time may prove 
Two heads have been more use to thee than one.” 

Lawyers’ offices are not, upon an average, the most 
fascinating place of resort in the world. Very few 
persons indeed, with the exception of the lawyers 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


87 


themselves, who have a personal interest in each of the 
few articles their sanctums contain, look upon them 
with much more favor than upon the waiting-room of 
a depot. 

Lawyer Dubreuil’s office, however, was a happy ex- 
ception to this almost universal rule. It was really as 
comfortable and cheerful a place as one would wish to 
see upon an autumn day. A bright carpet covered the 
floor, the sunny windows were gay with plants in 
bloom, a canary sung in its green and gilded cage, and 
the stove was a marvel of brightness. 

Lawyer Dubreuil was a born housekeeper, which did 
not prevent him at the same time from being an able 
and popular lawyer. He was a bachelor, — a bachelor, 
he jocosely affirmed, from choice, because he had never 
as yet been able to find a being of the gentler sex with- 
out fault, failing, or foible; and Mrs. Lauren Dubreuil 
must be absolute perfection. 

One morning, a few days after Archibald Levering’s 
visit to his son David’s widow, the little lawyer was 
busily and fussily superintending the operation of tidy- 
ing his office, which operation was of daily occurrence ; 
and, for the time being, the position of Jim, the colored 
office-boy, was not to be envied. The daily lighting 
of the fire, sweeping, and dusting were required to be 
completed before his employer left the precincts of his 
boarding-house, and woe betide Jim if a speck of dust 
was visible when that Argus-eyed gentleman appeared 
upon the scene. 

On this particular morning there was a little extra 
cleaning on hand. The windows, from which the 


88 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


plants had been removed for the purpose, were under- 
going a thorough polishing ; the finishing-touches were 
about being put on by Jim, aided by a piece of chamois- 
skin, when Archibald Levering, seated in his old-fash- 
ioned carriage, and driving his ancient gray horse, was 
seen for the second time that week stopping before the 
door of Lawyer Dubreuil’s office. He descended slowly 
from the vehicle, placed the lashless whip in the socket, 
and after tying the hitching-strap as securely as though 
the old horse would run away if it got a chance, he 
nodded his head with an air of concluding to risk it, 
and entered. 

. “ Why, how do you do, my dear sir, how do you 
do ?” said the little lawyer, with the sprightly effusion 
he always evinced on meeting a client. “ Being a little 
early, you have caught me superintending my household 
affairs. Well, well, the early bird catches the worm. 
Take a seat, my dear sir, take a seat; I shall be at 
liberty in a moment. Jim ! a little more polishing of 
that left-hand corner of the first pane in the third 
row of sash. Thoroughness, my dear sir,” turning to 
Mr. Levering, “ thoroughness in every particular has 
been my maxim through life ; nothing like it, in my 
opinion, to insure success.” 

It will be observed that the little man’s maxims were 
not always original, but that small matter did not 
trouble him a whit. 

“Now, Jim, put the plants back in the windows; 
give PeteJiis seed and fresh water, and then vamoose 
with your brooms and buckets ; I must to business.” 

Jim took his departure, and Lawyer Dubreuil turned 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


89 


to his mirror, adjusted his faultless necktie, brushed an 
imaginary speck of dust from his spotless suit of black, 
then turning to his visitor, with an abrupt change from 
his every-day business manner, said, in a friendly and 
sincere tone, “Well, Archibald, what can I do for you 
this morning ?” 

The conference was uninterrupted. The two students 
came in and seated themselves silently at their respective 
desks, and in a few moments were apparently as oblivi- 
ous to the conversation and all other outward things as 
the paper over which their pens so rapidly travelled. 

“ I will attend to it, my dear sir, — attend to it 
immediately,” said Mr. Dubreuil, as his visitor arose 
to depart. “ Promptness and despatch have been my 
maxim through life ; nothing like it, in my opinion, to 
insure success. Before I have taken my dinner I shall 
have seen Mrs. Garrigue and made her acquainted with 
the proposition.” 

“As coming from you, Lauren,” interposed Mr. 
Levering. “Let not my name be mentioned in the 
matter; and in the affair of taking the boy, let the 
offer appear as coming from my wife.” 

“All right, my dear sir, all right ; the best heart in 
the world, but always would hide your light under a 
bushel. Well, well, you shall be gratified; secrecy, 
without creating a mystery, has been my maxim 
through life. Jim!” calling from the window, “go 
down to the stables and tell them to send up the very 
best carriage and span they have on hand this morning. 
Tell them to have everything in apple-pie order about 
it, and to have it at the door in about an hour.” 


90 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Jim went. 

“To pay respect to the feelings of the ladies, my 
dear sir,” turning to Mr. Levering, “has been my 
maxim through life ; nothing flatters them so much as 
a fine equipage standing before their door ; the neigh- 
bors see it, you see. It is an innocent little foible 
which we should strive to humor ;” then catching sight 
of Mr. Levering’s turnout, he added, promptly, “ and 
by we, my dear sir, I mean those whom they employ 
to wait upon them : their lawyer, their physician, etc., 
— their servants, as it were, — ha ! ha ! Good-morning, 
my dear sir, good-morning !” 

Mrs. Garrigue did not keep Lawyer Dubreuil wait- 
ing, yet it was long enough to give him a chance to 
look for dust but find none. His office was spotless, 
but not more so than Mrs. Garrigue’s parlor. 

“Fine woman, fine woman,” thought the little man, 
as he heard her descending the stairs ; “ always respect- 
ably dressed, not going slipshod about the house and 
keeping callers waiting half a day while she makes a 
toilet suitable for a ball-room.” 

There was a striking resemblance between Mrs. 
Garrigue and her daughter, the widow of David 
Levering, and the deep mourning both wore aided 
the resemblance. Time had dealt kindly with Mrs. 
Garrigue, and at fifty she might have passed for an 
elder sister of Mrs. Levering. 

If she had any suspicion that their reverse of fortune 
had anything to do with Mr. DubreuiFs call she made 
no sign, but welcomed him as composedly as usual. 
After the weather and news of the day had been 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


91 


discussed, a short silence prevailed. Mrs. Garrigue 
was wondering what brought him that particular 
morning, and Mr. Dubreuil was thinking how much 
easier business could be transacted if people could only 
know other people’s thoughts. How easily, for in- 
stance, his errand at this time could be accomplished 
if he only knew in what form the proposition he was 
about to make to her would be most acceptable, if 
indeed it could be so in any form. 

“ I passed *that fine brownstone mansion, my dear 
madam, in my drive this morning,” said Mr. Du- 
breuil, breaking the silence; “ I allude to the one 
purchased by your late lamented son-in-law. The 
thought arose in my mind, what a splendid boarding- 
house it would make, so central, yet so retired. I 
wonder no one ever thought of it before.” 

Mrs. Garrigue acquiesced, and Mr. Dubreuil con- 
tinued : 

“ A first-class establishment of that kind is needed in 
this neighborhood. Now suppose, my dear madam, — 
just for example, — that a lady of your position and 
appearance would take that mansion and open a board- 
ing-house, what would be the result ? Why, my dear 
madam, it would raise boarding-house-keepiug to a fine 
art, it would indeed. It would make manifest the 
hidden possibilities which have been lying dormant, 
waiting for a master-hand to call them forth. And, 
furthermore, I have often thought it a pity that com- 
petency should be bestowed upon those having energy 
and talent, thus depriving them of the incentive for the 
exercise of their gift to its fullest capacity ; and, pardon 


92 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


me, bat I cannot help feeling gratified when a reverse 
of fortune gives such gifted ones an opportunity to 
exercise their talents, thus conferring a favor upon 
mankind.” 

The best of all was, this little lawyer believed every 
word he was saying, which was not exactly in the line 
of his business, and if he had not been successful in 
the experiment might have attributed his failure to 
that cause; but he was gratified to see that his auditor 
was not offended, but was apparently interested. 

“Mr. Dubreuil, you generally have a motive for 
your actions and a reason for your opinions. I have 
been endeavoring to discover your object in saying 
what you have just said. I think you have heard 
of our reverses, and have come to offer advice. Am 
I right?” 

Mr. Dubreuil was himself at once. 

“It has always been a maxim of my life, my dear 
madam, that nothing is so bad but what it might be 
worse. I hope you look at the miscalculations of life 
in the same light, my dear Mrs. Garrigue.” 

“ What do you advise us to do, Mr. Dubreuil ?” 

“ Put this house in my hands for sale. The brown- 
stone mansion was bought so low that I am in hopes, 
with a little assistance from a friend of mine who has 
a little money to lend, you and your daughter can hold 
it. Open it as a boarding-house, take your daughter 
and her two little girls with you, and let the boy go to 
his grandmother in the country.” 

“ But will Mr. Levering be willing ?” inquired Mrs. 
Garrigue, a flush rising to her cheek and a light in her 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


93 


eye which Lawyer Dubreuil, with all his adroitness in 
reading human nature, could not interpret. “ I have 
heard of such a thing as grandparents even being in- 
tolerant to children and their noise.” 

“ Oh, I will answer for Archibald ; ten chances to 
one if the boy makes any impression on his sense of 
vision after a day or so. He spends most of his time 
in his mill, and the women-folks run the house. Miss 
Hesba would be my bugbear were I Archibald junior. 
Whew ! she would save vinegar by turning cucumbers 
to pickles on the vines by merely looking at them.” 

“ You make me quite anxious to see her, Mr. Du- 
breuil,” said Mrs. Garrigue, smiling at the grimace of 
the little man. 

u I hope you can counteract the acidity, my dear 
madam,” replied Mr. Dubreuil, who, being in excellent 
spirits at the favorable reception which Mrs. Garrigue 
had given his advice, must have his little joke ; “ but 
I cannot say that I am anxious to repeat the experi- 
ment.” 

“ But,” continued the lady, coming back with a sigh 
to the question they had been discussing, “ supposing 
we do as you advise, would we not, think you, have 
difficulty in getting the class of people that we would 
be willing to have about us ? Remember this is an 
entirely new thing to us.” 

“ Keep a first-rate house, my dear madam, and charge 
a first-rate price. People expect good board no matter 
how little they pay, and generally the grumblers are 
those who pay the least. I have been boarding the 
best part of my life, and can give you a few little 
9 


94 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

hints from time to time, if agreeable to you to receive 
them.” 

“ Thank you ! we would consider it a great kindness. 
Perhaps you could go a step further, and if you have 
no particular interest in your boarding-house, would 
take an apartment in the brownstone house. It would 
be a good commencement for us.” 

The little lawyer rubbed his small white hands glee- 
fully. “ Did I not say that you possessed the attributes 
of a first-rate business woman ? It has always been a 
maxim of mine that straws show which way the wind 
blows. I was hoping you would seize the opportunity 
to get a boarder, and thought, if it did not occur to 
you, that I would mention it myself.” 

Mrs. Garrigue was pleased with the compliment. 

“ The house where I am now, or at least the people 
in it,” corrected Mr. Dubreuil, “are about going farther 
up-town, which would be too great a distance from my 
office. I also know several other business men who 
wish to make a change on that account. A young 
married couple are inquiring for a nice boarding-place, 
and I shall certainly mention yours. And now, my 
dear Mrs. Garrigue, I must do what Satan has never 
done with any of us yet, I must leave you. Good- 
morning, my dear madam, good-morning !” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


95 


CHAPTER VIII. 
a daughter’s return. 

“Oh, that weary homeward journey I 

Oh, those wheels, how their clatter jarred! 
For a cloud was over her sunshine, 

And life’s sweet harmony marred.” 


Preparations for some expected event were going 
on in a quiet way in the comfortable farm-house of 
Archibald Levering. A tea-table set for five persons, 
upon which was one of Aunt Hesba’s excellent pound- 
cakes, a pair of fine chickens simmering in the oven, 
and a roaring fire on the hearth of the seldom -used 
parlor, gave hint and token that company was expected 
to tea. 

That company was Caroline, only daughter of the 
house, returning from a four years’ sojourn in the 
family of her uncle, Dr. Harkness, in St. Louis, and 
Archie, son of her only brother David, for whom her 
father had gone to the city, and whose arrival, as was 
Caroline’s, might be looked for at any moment. 

“ She’s come !” said Aunt Hesba, as the sound of 
wheels stopping at the gate, followed by the thud of a 
trunk on the porch, reached her ear, and mother and 
aunt hastened to greet the young girl. 

Caroline had improved wonderfully in the four years 
of her absence from home. Always pretty, she had 


96 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


developed into a beautiful and distinguished-looking 
young lady. Tall for her age when she left home, 
awkward in her movements and brusque in manner, 
she had returned graceful and ladylike in her appear- 
ance, and, when she chose, with the manners of the 
most refined of the society in which she had moved, 
and that society was of the very best in St. Louis. 

She had been notified of her brother David’s illness 
and death ; the mother’s heart yearned for her daughter, 
so Mercy had written for her to come home, and home 
she came. After the greetings were over, Caroline 
stationed herself at a window which commanded a 
view of the lane, with its row on either side of weep- 
ing-willows, to watch for the carriage containing her 
father and Archie. Knowing this, one would suppose 
a smile of joyful recognition would illumine her lovely, 
regular features, and brighten her clear hazel eye, when 
those for whom she had been watching came in sight. 
Any one indulging this amiable supposition would only 
have to glance at the fair, rosebud face to have that 
same amiable supposition cast to the winds. 

“ There comes father with those abominable old blue 
clothes that he has worn ever since I can remember. 
Mother, why do you let him make such a scarecrow of 
himself when he is able to have a better suit ?” 

Mrs. Levering looked up in surprise. 

“ Why, Caroline, I think they look very well ; there 
is not a thin place in them. You would not want your 
father to be dressed up like a young man, would you ?” 

“ Certainly not. But you never see anybody dressed - 
like father, even at his age. No one even around here 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


97 


dresses as he does, do they ? And then, that carriage ! 
I wonder the street boys do not shout after it when 
he goes into town. I would not be seen in it for the 
world.” 

“ It has been a faithful good carriage, Caroline ; no 
such work is made in these days, I have often heard 
your father say.” 

“ No, I should think not ; it would be a pity if there 
were.” 

“ What ails it, Caroline ?” 

“ Oh, mother, how can you ask ?” replied her daugh- 
ter, half crying. “ It appears to me everything looks 
forlorn. I would not think it possible that things could 
run down so in four years.” 

A look of pain crossed Mrs. Levering’s patient face. 

“ Why, Caroline, I thought you would be so glad to 
get back, after being away so long. I am sure I 
thought you would want to hear of poor David, and so 
many things. What is it that has run down so ?” 

“ Oh, the house, and the furniture, and everything ! 
No paper on the walls, no paint on the wood- work, 
nothing but rag carpet on the floors. You ought to 
see uncle’s house in St. Louis : elegant carpets and 
curtains, and piano and pictures and books ; and every 
place we visited was just like it. Oh, I should be 
mortified to death if anybody should visit me from 
there !” 

“ Why, you do not think that any one would come 
away here just to see you, Caroline, do you ?” said Mrs. 
Levering, without a suspicion that her inquiry was not 
particularly complimentary. 

9 * 


98 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Caroline was saved the embarrassment of framing a 
reply to suit the exigency, for just then the door opened, 
and her father and Archie came in. 

At heart Archibald Levering was glad to see his 
daughter. As little as he chose to be in her society, or 
the society of any of his family, it was doubtful if any 
member of 'the home circle had missed her more than 
he, or felt the disappointment he felt in knowing that 
she preferred her uncle’s home to his; but with his 
habit of concealing his feelings no one was aware of it. 
Even now, his cold blue eye never lighted, nor did his 
grim lips relax into a smile, as he came forward to 
greet her in a constrained manner, as though wishing 
it were over and done with. 

As for Caroline, she put her dainty hand in that of 
her father with scarcely more warmth than though he 
were a stranger, then turned to greet Archie. 

“ They did not kiss each other,” thought Archie, full 
of wonder, “ and he is her father !” 

The boy’s surprise would have been great indeed if 
he had known that to kiss one of his children was 
something that Archibald Levering had never done in 
his life ; therefore Caroline had grown up without ex- 
pecting it, and would have been more surprised at this 
mark of paternal affection than Archie was at the 
omission. 

Caroline’s cheek flushed warmly at sight of her 
nephew. One glance satisfied her cultivated eye that 
her sister-in-law understood the art of dressing children 
tastefully. Here, at least, was a little bit of the world 
of society she had so unwillingly left, and for which 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


99 


she was grieving before she had spent one night under 
the homestead roof. She felt companionship with the 
boy, and, truth to say, he looked as out of place in 
the low-joisted dining-room of the farm-house as did 
Caroline herself. 

Archie thought he had never tasted such bread and 
butter in his life as that upon his grandfather’s table ; 
and full justice he did to it after his unaccustomed fast 
and drive in the sweet, pure air. Neither did he slight 
the excellent coffee, the honey, the sweet, tender ham, 
nor anything else which graced the board, which never 
at any time showed deficiency in quantity or quality. 
He longed to ask if the flour of which the splendid 
bread was made was ground in his grandfather’s mill ; 
but as the supper was partaken of in almost absolute 
silence, which he had not courage to break, the question 
remained unasked. Mr. Levering had asked his daugh- 
ter after the welfare of her uncle’s family; she had 
replied, and there appeared nothing more to be said. 

As soon as the meal was finished, Mr. Levering 
donned his coat, which he had taken off before sitting 
down to supper, and went to the mill. Hesba took 
two glittering tin buckets from the picket-fence which 
enclosed the garden, and went to the barn to milk ; 
Archie having seen the sleek and gentle-looking cows 
coming slowly, cropping as they came, up the lane on 
their way to their resting-place for the night. 

Caroline took her station again at the window and 
looked disconsolately out, while Archie took a seat in 
his grandmother’s cushioned rocking-chair by the open 
fire, which blazed and crackled up the wide-throated 


100 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


chimney, casting grotesque shadows on the bare, white- 
washed walls, which but for it would have been dark- 
ened by the early twilight of the short autumn day. 

Twinges of homesickness began to visit the boy. He 
missed the baby and the merry romps with his little 
sister by the light of the nursery fire ; and oh ! most of 
all, he missed his mother. His grandmother, who was 
quietly putting aside the remains of the meal, noticed 
the sadness creeping over him and the tears which 
were filling his eyes. 

“ Would you like to go out, dear, and see Aunt 
Hesba and the cows ?” said she, going to him and pat- 
ting him lovingly on the shoulder. “ Just go quietly 
to the bars, and be careful not to frighten the cows, or 
Aunt Hesba will not like it.” 

Archie arose immediately, and, putting on his cap, 
left the room. The moment he was outside he heard 
the deep rumbling of the mill, which seemed to add to 
the dreariness. When in after-years the hum and whir 
of that machinery — his machinery — was the sweetest 
music to his ear, he often contrasted it with the sound 
which oppressed him the first evening he spent in the 
country. 

Tears blinded his eyes as he trudged along down the 
lane that led to the barn. All around seemed so quiet 
and sad. He missed the hurry and bustle of the city 
streets, as viewed from the windows of his home ; the 
lamplighter on his rounds, the shouts of the newsboys, 
the merry tinkle of the milkmen’s bells, — all the sounds 
peculiar to the city alone. He felt that he really could 
not stay ; he must go back and share his mother’s lot, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


101 


no matter what that lot might be. He walked almost 
around the barn, but found no cows, when, in turning 
a corner of it, he came to an enclosure under the south 
side; there they were, sleepily chewing their cuds, 
Aunt Hesba on her milking-stool in their midst. 

Nothing was further from Archie’s thoughts than to 
frighten anything. He only intended to lean on the 
only bar that was up, and watch Aunt Hesba as she 
rapidly added to the foaming pail, when crash ! down 
came the bar and Archie on top of it, which caused a 
stampede among the cattle, in which Hesba, the milk, 
and the milking-stool were overthrown. 

“ Just as I expected !” she angrily exclaimed, as she 
picked herself up. “What possessed you to come 
sneaking down here and then make such a noise as 
that ?” 

“I did not intend to make a noise, Aunt Hesba,” 
said Archie, too frightened to cry; “I just leaned on 
the stick and it came down, and I hurt myself, too.” 

“Stick! what stick?” said Aunt Hesba, sharply, 
looking around. “ That is what people of sense call a 
bar.” And picking up her empty buckets, she turned 
her back on poor Archie and went to the house. 

Archie soon followed, his tears flowing without 
restraint, and heard the history of his misdeeds re- 
counted in no flattering terms. His grandmother made 
no remark; she soothed and petted him, bathed his 
bruised elbows and knees with camphor, and soon the 
poor boy’s troubles were forgotten in the sweet, deep 
sleep of childhood, his flushed cheek resting on his 
grandmother’s lap. 


102 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Few persons, judging by the glimpse they have had 
of Caroline Levering’s nature, would suppose that she 
had been for the past two years a Sunday-school 
teacher and a member of a church choir ; yet such was 
the case, and to all appearances both duties had been 
performed satisfactorily to everybody concerned. Her 
uncle, Dr. John Harkness, and his family were active 
church members, but they were also gay, fashionable 
people; and brilliant parties and church fairs, fancy 
balls and donation-parties, prayer-meetings and even- 
ings at the theatre, followed one another with delightful 
celerity, each in its turn receiving full share of attention 
with exemplary impartiality. 

Dr. Harkness was Mercy Levering’s only brother, 
as was Mercy his only sister ; and as he had spent the 
small legacy left him by an uncle in obtaining his 
medical education, he concluded that the wisest thing 
he could do was to marry money, so laid his plans 
accordingly. He met with a young lady of St. Louis 
at a watering-place, who, besides being sensible and 
amiable, was an heiress. He married her, and estab- 
lished himself in her native city. Having but one 
daughter, they were more than pleased to have a bright, 
pretty girl like Caroline to be company for her in her 
studies, and then enter society with her. 

So Dr. Harkness had, four years before, paid a visit 
to his sister Mercy, and had easily persuaded her to let 
Caroline, who was delighted to go, accompany him on 
his return to St. Louis. The four years had flown like 
a happy dream, and she was now at home. Caroline 
felt the change; yet, if there had been any sincere 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


103 


desire in her heart to do good, what a field of useful- 
ness lay before her in her home and in the neighbor- 
hood around her ! 

What an educator she might have been for Archie ! 
what a comfort to the lonely mother pining for the 
society of her only daughter ! what a cheerful companion 
for the sour-visaged and at times irritable Aunt Hesba, 
and for the reticent but kind-hearted father ! 

It was one of the contradictions of Archibald Lever- 
ing’s nature to feel satisfaction in having cheerful 
conversation going on around him, although he ap- 
parently paid no attention, and did not wish to be 
expected to take part. His wonted place of evenings 
was the old-fashioned settee behind the ten-plate stove 
in the sitting-room. There, with coat off, — for he 
never wore one in the house, — and with a lamp to him- 
self, he read the whole evening, and sometimes far into 
the night, hours after the rest of the family had retired. 

To Caroline these evenings were almost torture. 
The click of her mother’s and aunt’s knitting-needles 
rasped her sensitive nerves. She was weary from 
reading so much through the day, and took no interest 
in the employments going on around her. Her father 
and mother appeared oblivious to all this disquietude, 
but Aunt Hesba found herself losing patience. 

“If you would do more, Caroline, you would be better 
contented,” she said sharply to her one day. “Your 
cousins Mira and Prudence are always contented, because 
they are busy. Why don’t you go over and see them?” 

“What company are they for me?” replied the 
young girl, pettishly. “They know nothing but 


104 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


drudgery, and all I should hear from Prudence would 
be how much butter the dappled cow had made, and 
Mira would be in ecstasies over the achievements of 
her speckled hens. Oh, how I hate the whole thing !” 

“ Look out, or Mira will outshine you with all your 
style,” said Hesba, grimly. a I saw people turn to 
look at her the last time there was preaching at Dorton. 
She is growing up a sweet, lovely girl.” 

“ She is welcome to all the admiration she will win 
about here ; it would not count much to me,” replied 
her niece, tartly. 

With the knowledge gained of Sunday-schools in 
St. Louis, how easily Caroline could have organized 
one in the little church at Dorton, about a mile across- 
lots from her father’s house, collected the youth of 
the neighborhood, who, for lack of something of the 
kind, spent their Sundays in fishing in the creek and 
boating in summer, gathering nuts in the autumn, and 
skating in winter. Neither would she have been at a 
loss for a coadjutor, for, cross-grained as Aunt Hesba 
was at times, she was faithful in the performance of 
any known duty, and no weather was too cold or too 
hot to keep her from the services of the little church 
when they were fortunate enough to secure a preacher. 

But Caroline was young and undisciplined, and there 
was no friend at hand to point out the uncongenial 
path of duty, which natural affection and a sincere 
desire to do right might perhaps in time have made 
almost pleasant. So she fretted and beat against the 
bars of what she looked upon as her prison-house, like 
any other caged bird. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


105 


CHAPTER IX. 

MARK BRYOR AND HIS FIRST AND ONLY LOVE. 

“ Life hath its faithless days ; 

The golden promise of the morn 
That seemed for light and gladness horn, 

Meant only noontide wreck and scorn, 

Hushed harp, instead of praise.” 

If there was any person in the whole circle of their 
acquaintance who was entitled to sympathy and com- 
miseration, that person was Miss Bowlsly ; so thought 
her friends, and so she herself thought, and what was 
to be done about it, was more than she or any of her 
friends could cipher out. 

Owing to a fall upon the ice she had been confined to 
her room, and most of the time to her couch, for several 
years, and had come to depend almost entirely upon an 
efficient woman, Margaret Hogan by name, who had 
lived with her a long time, even before her accident, 
and was nurse, protector, and friend; and now Mar- 
garet was about to get married and leave her, and oh, 
dear ! was ever a poor afflicted mortal tried as was Miss 
Bowlsly ? 

She had always known that Margaret had a lover in 
the old country, had even been entertained with scraps 
of the correspondence between them, and amid an ava- 
lanche of loving expressions had sifted out that he had 

10 


106 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


a mother, aged and nearly blind ; and nothing but his 
duty and affection for her kept him from his “darlint 
Marget;” but she had so many present afflictions to 
occupy her mind that she had no chance to acquire 
the habit of reaching into the future for things to 
worry about, so looked upon Margaret’s marriage in 
about the same light that she did the millennium or 
any other probable but far distant event. Therefore 
one fine October morning, when she heard Margaret — 
proverbially demure in manner and measured in gait — 
fly up-stairs like a girl of sixteen, and with her round 
face rosy with joy cry out, “Miss Bowlsly, darlint, 
Dennis has corned!” she was so unprepared for the 
emergency as for the moment to forget self, and actually 
rejoiced with her. 

Miss Bowlsly had long considered herself as one of 
fortune’s footballs. In fact, she had good reason to 
suspect that the capricious dame looked upon her as 
an excellent subject upon which to try experiments. 
So numerous had been her misfortunes and disappoint- 
ments, her perplexities and trials, that if a streak of 
good fortune had made a feint of calling upon her, 
she would in all probability have bade it, as an alien 
and stranger, pass by on the other side. 

As far as her own knowledge went, she had al- 
ways been an orphan. It was the supposition at the 
foundling hospital, where her first years were spent, 
that she had parents; but who they were or what 
they were, they never troubled themselves to find out. 
Therefore when a childless couple, Mr. and Mrs. 
Bowlsly, attracted by the forlorn look of the little 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


107 


waif, offered to adopt her and take her to their home 
near the village of Dorton, the objections were so small 
as to have no weight ; so they took the little creature 
to their comfortable farm-house, gave her their name, 
and brought her up precisely, she never doubted, as 
though she had been theirs by birth, as she was by 
affection. 

There was a youth, a distant relative of Mrs. Bowlsly, 
who was a fellow-student with Mark and Richard 
Bryor at the Dorton Academy. With her character- 
istic, kind-hearted thoughtfulness, Mrs. Bowlsly fre- 
quently invited him to spend the Sabbath at the farm- 
house, and to bring any friend he chose to bear him 
company. The invitation was gladly accepted both 
by him and by Mark Bryor, his particular friend and 
classmate. 

After Mark left the academy he frequently drove 
out from the city to visit the Bowlslys, and when Miss 
Bowlsly grew to womanhood he asked her to be his 
wife. The day was set for the marriage, but before it 
arrived his parents discovered that she was only an 
adopted daughter, and even the fine farm which it was 
generally understood she was one day to possess could 
not reconcile them to the union of their son with the 
daughter of “ the dear knows who,” as they expressed 
it; so they set to work to break off the match, and, 
what was more, succeeded, to the great grief of her 
foster-parents and also of the young lady, who re- 
mained, in consequence, “Miss Bowlsly” to the end 
of her days. 

In the course of time Mr. and Mrs. Bowlsly died 


108 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


unexpectedly, and within a short time of each other, 
and to the shock of this sudden bereavement was added 
that of losing the only real home she had ever known; 
for, owing to some discrepancy in the law or the law- 
yers, the valuable property, which had been willed to 
her, took a tangent movement to a wealthy nephew of 
Mr. Bowlsly, who considered that he had done a most 
generous act when he handed the desolate woman a few 
hundred dollars, in lieu of the handsome property she 
had always been led to believe was hers. 

Sick at heart, she cast about for ways and means to 
prolong an existence which in her present depressed 
condition she scarcely considered worth the trouble. 
Persons of a numerical and statistical turn of mind 
may possibly remember how many accomplishments a 
celebrated French authoress possessed, whereby she 
could have earned her livelihood had necessity de- 
manded ; but being satisfied in our own mind that if 
it had really come to the trial she would have found 
herself mightily mistaken, we have never considered 
the number worth remembering. Miss Bowlsly, in- 
stead of counting upon her fingers the many occupa- 
tions suffering for her acceptance, and floundering in 
the “ delicious perplexity” of trying to decide where 
all were so congenial to her tastes and for which she 
was so competent, sat hopelessly down, and wondered, 
in the utter abandonment of despair, what on earth 
she was good for, or why she was ever born, since in 
the whole world there seemed no place for her. 

Miss Bowlsly had never in her palmiest days pos- 
sessed that inestimable blessing, a cheerful disposition. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


109 


She could not let the dead past bury its dead, but 
what time was not spent in brooding over present 
troubles was poorly invested in gloomy retrospection. 
Instead of encouraging the waters of oblivion to roll 
over the troubles of the past and bury them deep, 
seeing that keeping their memory green could not 
benefit herself or others, she fostered and watched over 
them as tenderly as a mother over her sightless and 
misshapen offspring ; therefore, to the last day of her 
life, she never forgot the bitter sorrow of that dreary 
autumn afternoon when she bade farewell to the home 
which was never more to be hers. 

There had been a sale of the personal property the 
day before, and the trampled flower-beds and prints of 
careless footsteps on the neatly-kept lawn were dreary 
reminders of one exciting and worrying day already in 
the past. Alone, and for the last time, she opened the 
door of every empty and echoing room, stood gazing 
vacantly out of some particular window where old 
recollections and associations of those who were gone 
were most poignant; stood in the closet which had 
been her play-house in childhood and the receptacle of 
her little treasures in later years, then slowly descended 
the stairs, empty to other vision, but, to her, thronging 
with vignettes of a happy home life. 

Locking the outer door and putting the key in her 
pocket, she drew her black shawl around her shivering 
form and sat down on the porch-step, too wretched for 
tears. The autumn winds sighed through the nearly leaf- 
less trees, scattering the gleanings of the harvest on the 
gravel walk at her feet ; then on through the garden, 
10 * 


110 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


rustling the blighted stalks of the dahlias and holly- 
hocks, which a few weeks before had been the pride of 
her foster-mother’s heart; on through the rich meadow- 
lands and corn-fields, every foot of which had been 
trodden by the patient form at rest in the grave ; then 
spending its wasting strength in the woodland far be- 
yond, where it sighed a requiem over her buried hopes. 

The gathering twilight warned her that it was time 
to depart, and, rising wearily, she passed through the 
wicket-gate, and, without looking back, took her way to 
Dorton. 

Among the few friendships which her reserved or, 
as most persons considered, haughty disposition had 
allowed her to cultivate was an old schoolmate, who 
had married many years before, and having other cares 
and interests incident to married life to engross her 
time and attention, her companionship with Miss 
Bowlsly had not been so free and unrestrained as in 
her girlhood ; but in the hour of adversity she most 
cordially offered the stricken girl a home until she 
could look about her and decide upon her future, and 
it was there she purposed going that evening. 

On her way thither she passed a millinery and notion 
store, kept by a maiden lady, and, as is generally the 
case, the little place was the resort of what few young 
people were in the village. 

Miss Bowlsly’s mourning-bonnet had been purchased 
there by a helpful neighbor, with the understanding 
that Miss Bowlsly was to call to settle for it when con- 
venient, which she had thought should be the follow- 
ing day. A sudden impulse seized her to call then, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


Ill 


and, retracing her steps, she entered the dim little store, 
— dim because for the time the brightness and cheeri- 
ness were in the parlor back of it, where the rosy 
milliner and two little girls — orphan nieces, who had 
been bequeathed to her by their dying mother — were 
merrily sorting a box of scraps of ribbon for trim- 
mings for the dolls’ hats in process of construction. 

A glimpse through the open door of the tiny kitchen 
showed her another orphan to which this good woman 
had given a home, and who was now preparing tea for 
the little family ; then a kind voice greeted her. 

“ Come right out here to the fire, my dear Miss 
Bowlsly. Mrs. Baker was in a while ago, and said she 
expected you, and I was just thinking how cold and 
dreary it was for you down at the empty house.” 

Children instinctively know when one is in trouble 
and in need of comfort, and Miss Bowlsly had taken 
a seat among them but a short time when a small 
soft hand was slipped into hers on either side, and 
loving, childish eyes were regarding her with affec- 
tionate sympathy. Down deep in Miss Bowlsly ’s 
heart lay a true affection for children, although her 
knowledge of their ways was limited. That one should, 
of its own will, show her any mark of affection, struck 
her with surprise. The mother-love in all its purity 
and self-abnegation was strong in her, but never having 
had the opportunity to develop, she was scarcely con- 
scious that she possessed it ; she only knew now that 
she was more comforted by their silent caresses than by 
any spoken word since her bereavement. 

“ You are a happy woman, Miss Steever,” said she, 


112 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


earnestly. “No wonder you are so cheerful and con- 
tented ; you have everything to make you so.” 

“ Yes ; but did you ever know a thoroughly satisfied 
or really contented person, Miss Bowlsly ? I can truly 
say I never did, and I am no exception to the rule. 
Just at this time I am so unsettled I do not know 
which way to turn.” 

Seeing that Miss Bowlsly was regarding her with at- 
tentive interest, she continued : “ My business here is 
increasing, but I believe I could do better in a larger 
place. The city is so near that all those who keep car- 
riages — and most of the farmers around do — go to the 
city for their millinery. Just at this time there is an 
excellent opening in the city : an old friend is about to 
give up the business, and if I had a few hundred dol- 
lars more, or a few less,” she added, with a laugh, “ I 
could come to a decision.” 

“ If I understood the business, and would advance 
the few hundreds you mention, would you allow me to 
go with you ?” 

“ I most certainly would,” replied Miss Steever, cor- 
dially, “ and that is why I resolved to mention it to 
you ; but not knowing how you would take it, did not 
tell you my wishes just at first. I believe you have a 
natural talent for such work, and it would not take 
you long to learn ; you could do the selling, and learn 
the millinery at odd times if you preferred.” 

So it was settled; and the next day Miss Bowlsly 
entered upon a new and entirely different phase of life 
from any she had experienced. And it was beneficial 
to her in many ways ; it drew her out of herself, gave 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


113 


her more interests in life, more knowledge of human 
nature, less time to reflect on her losses and disappoint- 
ments. 

They went to the city, and established themselves 
in one of the best localities of a business street. Wish- 
ing to be patronized by people, they went where the 
people were, and the result proved that Miss Steever’s 
reasoning was correct. This might not have been 
the natural sequence with all persons at all times and 
under all circumstances ; in many cases the change 
might have been anything but favorable, the risk too 
great, the returns too slow; but Miss Steever was 
one with whom everything prospered, and Miss 
Bowlsly, because associated with her, shared the 
prosperity. 

It was about this time that Margaret Hogan came to 
live with them, to manage the household affairs; and 
well managed they were. A few years afterward, Miss 
Steever withdrew, to enter a matrimonial partnership, 
and the two nieces and the orphan girl accompanied 
her to her new home, leaving Miss Bowlsly and 
Margaret Hogan sole representatives of the business 
and domestic firm. 

Notwithstanding her withdrawal from the business, 
it prospered beyond Miss Bowlsly’s expectations, and 
she was fast becoming a rich woman ; then came the 
unlucky fall upon the ice, and in consequence the giv- 
ing up of her business and removal to a retired part 
of the city, where she existed for years, with apparently 
nothing more to interest her than the occasional change 
from one physician to another, interspersed with all 


114 


TIMOTHY : HIS NEIGHBORS 


the patent medicines she could hear of which made a 
specialty of her case. 

It was at this time that old Mr. Bryor died, and 
Mark returned from Europe. The years of his absence 
had sprinkled his hair with silver, and converted his 
always reserved manner into one almost austere. 
Italy’s sun had bronzed his yet handsome face, the 
passing years had attenuated his once robust form. 
He left his home saddened and disappointed, he 
returned world-weary and more silent than ever. His 
native city appeared to have no attractions for him. 
If it could be truly said that Mark Bryor had been 
happy anywhere on earth, that place was Dorton ; so 
as soon as the business for which he had returned was 
looked into, he went out there. 

He had never heard one word from Miss Bowlsly 
since he left his own land, and never doubted but she 
had married years before. His sorrow was sincere 
when told at the farm-house which had once been her 
home, of the death of her foster-parents; but a ray 
of hope came into his heart when he heard that she 
was still unmarried. He returned immediately to the 
village, and after some delay and much inquiry ob- 
tained her address. Before' sunset he was back in the 
city, and evening found him in her quiet parlor. 

If Mark Bryor was proud, his pride could not be 
equalled by that of Miss Bowlsly. Her haughty spirit 
had received too keen a blow ; she could not forget. 
All love for him was blotted out long ago, and she 
would not, afflicted as she was, be a burden to a man 
who had once deserted her. She reminded him that 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


115 


the circumstances of her birth remained as when he 
left her, and in all probability would so remain. Her 
rejection of his second offer of marriage was short, 
sharp, and decisive. 

Mark Bryor returned next day to Dorton, and drove 
straight on out to the Bowlsly farm, and in an hour 
from the time the subject was mentioned to the owner 
of it, Mr. Bryor had bargained, bought, and paid for 
it; the whole estate was in his possession, and the 
same evening he engaged Clement Pierson to farm it 
on shares. 

A few weeks after the ripple which had disturbed 
the quiet life of Miss Bowlsly had subsided, Dennis, 
whose mother had died, came to claim his promised 
wife, and now Margaret was going to leave her, and 
poor Miss Bowlsly was in consequence anxious and 
depressed. 

She had lived such a retired and, as she began to 
realize, selfish life that she did not know to whom to 
apply for information in « regard to filling Margaret's 
place. The few friends she possessed were those in 
her old business neighborhood, and as she could not 
return their calls, the communication was not very 
frequent. 

In country neighborhoods it is difficult to lead the 
life of a recluse, but in a populous city persons can, 
if they so will it, bury themselves as completely from 
companionship with their fellow-creatures as though 
they were residents of the desert of Sahara ; and Miss 
Bowlsly had come near doing that very thing. Mar- 
garet and herself had been all in all to each other, and 


116 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


now Margaret was going away ; and somehow this new 
perplexity set her to thinking. She was growing old ; 
what was to become of her if her old age was as 
helpless and solitary as it now gave promise of being ? 

“ What good had she ever done in the world, and 
how much had it been benefited by her living in it?” 
she questioned of herself, sadly. None that she could 
see. 

Well, it was never too late to do better, and from 
this time forth she would try to benefit her fellow- 
pilgrims in any manner that lay in her power. But 
where to begin was the question. 

In the prosperous and highly respectable neighbor- 
hood of which she was a resident everybody seemed 
abundantly able to get along without any assistance 
from her ; at least, no one had come to her for aid and 
comfort, and she was too much occupied with her own 
afflictions to take a very active interest in those of 
others, so had never made inquiry. The sweet words 
of dear Alice Carey might have found an echo in her 
sad heart : 

“ With all things to take of thy dear loving kindness, 

The wine of thy sunshine, the dew of thy air, 

And nothing to give but the folly and blindness 
Born of the depths of an utter despair. 

il The little green grasshopper, weak as we deem her, 

Sings day in and day out for the dear right to live, 

And canst thou, oh Summer ! make room for a dreamer, 
With all things to take and with nothing to give?” 

With the families on either side of her she had not even 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


117 


a speaking acquaintance. She had, when assisted by her 
faithful Margaret to her chair by the window, which com- 
manded a view of the back-yards of their dwellings, 
taken an interest in watching the young people of the 
family next door, on the one side, as they flitted in and 
out among the roses and geraniums. They were all 
merry, and seemingly contented. The parents were 
dignified, middle-aged people, with prosperity written 
in every line of their countenances and fold of their 
garments. That family evidently required nothing at 
her hands. 

On the other side there had been many changes since 
she had taken possession of her present residence. It 
was all used as a dwelling except the large room front, 
which had been successively a stationery store, a con- 
fectionery, a drug store, and the year before had been 
taken by a quiet German family, who had opened a 
grocery and provision store. 

She remembered that, at the time, it was one of her 
trials : that boxes of soap, and brooms, and wooden 
buckets should line the sidewalk close to her dwelling ; 
and the bow-window, which heretofore had been 
brilliant with colored liquids in handsome urns and a 
tank of gold-fish, or snowy with frosted bride’s cake 
and rich bonbons, should have degenerated into a 
sample-holder of yeast-powder, pipes, and smoked 
herring. She had always sent to the large provision 
stores for everything they required, and she would not 
let the establishment of a smaller one even next-door 
prevent her doing so still, and faithfully she had kept 
her resolution. 


11 


118 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


She remembered also that the husband had died in 
the summer, and that the widow still kept the store, 
but whether she were doing well or ill she knew no 
more than if she were miles away. 

Well, it should be so no longer ; she would try to 
become acquainted with the widow and her family, and 
if they required any help or sympathy from her, it 
should not be withheld. 

Money, we believe, has always been credited as being 
the lever which moves the world ; but, after all, it has 
a partner which goes hand in hand with it, — a very 
silent partner, by the way; very retiring and unob- 
trusive, but oftentimes having more capital in the con- 
cern than its burly and pompous co-worker. And that 
partner is self-interest. Only let a person get an ink- 
ling how a favor rendered another can benefit himself, 
and if he can compass it in any way, that favor is 
pretty sure to be conferred. And it is right that it 
should be so, if only to prove to us that we are de- 
pendent one upon another in our journey through the 
world. Therefore quickly following on the heels of 
her good resolution to help another came the equally 
good one to benefit herself if she could. 

“ Maybe she may know of some good, trusty woman 
to fill Margaret’s place,” was Miss Bowlsly’s thought. 

When the honest little German woman next-door 
was informed by Margaret that “ Miss Bowlsly would 
like to have her drop in if she could spare the time 
that evening, as she would like to talk to her,” quickly 
following her answer, “ To be sure I will ; thank her 
for the honor,” came the undeniably selfish but per- 


AND IIIS FRIENDS. 


fectly natural thought, “ Maybe she will know or 
good recipe for curing dried beef.” 

Miss Bowlsly had just finished her simple evening 
repast when Mrs. Leibeg, knitting in hand, came 
briskly in, — a bright-eyed, rosy little woman, all smiles 
and good humor, brimming with life and vitality, her 
atmosphere of breezy, out-door wholesome life impart- 
ing more refreshment to Miss Bowlsly’s languid exist- 
ence than any cordial ever patented. The swift motion 
of her needles in and out as round after round was 
added to the fast lengthening stocking, the thread held 
in her left hand, German fashion, did not in the least 
interfere with the even flow of her discourse. 

Upon the troubles she had passed through she dwelt 
but lightly, merely mentioning them in connection with 
what she was relating; and Miss Bowlsly almost forgot 
her own, and actually indulged in two or three hearty 
laughs, as her companion recounted amusing incidents 
in her funny, broken way. 

After her husband’s death had left her alone she had 
rented out the most of the dwelling-part of the house, 
retaining but two rooms and the store. As for the 
neighbors, she knew everybody around and liked them 
all. They all patronized her, and she attributed it in 
a great measure to the doctor’s wife, who had called in 
to see her after her husband’s death, and had ever since 
bought her groceries and other necessaries from her, 
and her example was followed by her acquaintances, 
and now the best ladies in the neighborhood did not 
consider themselves demeaned by sitting in her store 
and chatting a while with her. 


120 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Miss Bowlsly did not wonder at it ; she could not 
remember when she had passed so pleasant an evening, 
and Dennis and Margaret in the kitchen were not more 
oblivious of the flight of time than were Miss Bowlsly 
and her next-door neighbor. Mrs. Leibeg, who had 
a knack of combining business with pleasure, did not 
forget the recipe for dried beef, and Miss Bowlsly took 
pleasure in giving her adopted mother’s superior method ; 
and when it was ready for sale no dried beef in the city 
was in such demand as “ Leibeg’s country-cured beef,” 
for it took its name from Mrs. Leibeg, although she 
never sold a pound of it, and this is the why and 
wherefore. 

When the time drew near for Margaret’s marriage, 
and consequently giving up of her old home, the more 
anxious she became to reside near Miss Bowlsly, and 
the more Dennis saw of the corner grocery the better 
it appeared to suit him, so he offered to buy out Mrs. 
Leibeg on such fair terms that she was glad to accept ; 
and as the family in the other part of the house were 
going to leave, he and Margaret had no difficulty in 
renting the whole place from the owner; and when 
Miss Bowlsly asked Mrs. Leibeg and her knitting what 
they were going to do now, the reply was, “ Come and 
live with you in Margaret’s place, if you will have us.” 
And they came. 


AND UIS FRIENDS. 


121 


CHAPTER, X. 

PRUDENCE AND MIRA. 

“ Ay I such is man's philosophy, 

When one he tries to woo 
But scorns him, — see — it teaches him 
To make another do." 

Another summer night had detached itself from 
the Future, had for a brief period been the Present, 
and then become for evermore an atom of the Past, 
when Prudence Levering awoke with a start, and arose 
from her couch, already oppressed with the burdens of 
the new day. 

There are hours in every one’s life when the most 
trivial of vexations take upon themselves the form of 
calamities, and this waking hour of Prudence Lever- 
ing was just such an one. 

It was a sultry morning in the beginning of July. 
Hay harvest had commenced, and her father, Jonas 
Levering, in consequence of her quick temper and sharp 
tongue, was short of a hand. To the mind unschooled 
in rural lore this might suggest the impression that Mr. 
Levering was deficient in one of the component parts of 
his anatomy, which contribute to the measure of one’s 
usefulness; but such was not the case. He was the 
owner of a pair of hands, as efficient, honest, and toil- 
worn could have been found anywhere, but, as was 
11 * 


122 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


remarked before, in consequence of the reproofs of his 
elder daughter, Prudence, the previous evening, Peter 
McCaffry, his boy-of-all-work, had shaken the dust 
from his feet and departed, leaving Mr. Levering 
short of a hand. 

“ I ought to have been up an hour ago,” communed 
Prudence, as she hastily fastened hooks and inserted 
pins. “ I know just how it will be when I get down- 
stairs : father will have cut only enough wood to get # 
breakfast, leaving us to pick around for the rest of 
the day ; mother will be worried because Peter is not 
within call ; grandmother will be pottering around in 
everybody’s way, and if Mira happens to be up, she 
will look, 1 1 told you so,’ even if she does not say it.” 

She descended. 

"Well, thee is up at last,” said Mira, glibly, as 
Prudence opened the kitchen-door. “ I suppose thee 
forgot thee had to feed the calves, now that Peter is 
gone. I did the milking an hour ago, and am helping 
mother with the breakfast.” 

“ Thee is very brisk,” retorted Prudence, reddening ; 

“ but it is no wonder thee is elated. It is something 
new for thee to be up without my having to call thee 
several times.” And taking her scalded meal she 
disappeared, without waiting for the reply she knew 
was sure to come. 

It has been said that a good cup of coffee is just the 
mid-point between bodily and spiritual nourishment, 
acting agreeably and at the same time upon the 
thoughts and senses, and that the preparing of this 
excellent beverage is one of the most delicate and 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


123 


interesting of culinary operations. The originator of 
that thought would have been confirmed in his opinion 
could he have seen Mira Levering as she gayly spun 
around the ample kitchen that warm morning. Fresh . 
as a rose, arms bared to the elbow, and with a gay 
little dust-cap over her sunny braids, and her grand- 
mother’s wide apron pinned around her, she was a 
perfect picture of youth, health, and happiness. 

“ Mother, thee can take thy place at the table now, 
and tell grandmother that breakfast is ready. Prudence 
is coming, and I will blow the horn for father,” she 
announced, cheerily, as the aroma of the bubbling 
coffee saluted her nostrils; “and a good breakfast it 
is, too. Dear me, who says I cannot fry potatoes, even 
if it is new to me?” she mimicked to herself, with a 
dash of mirthful irony. 

A long and lusty blast upon the bright tin horn 
summoned her father, not from the distant barn as she 
had intended, but from the back porch, close at hand, 
where he had been for the last ten minutes, rather 
disconsolately viewing the field where the fragrant, 
newly-mown hay lay in the thick, even swaths made 
by the mower the day before. He returned the little 
bone comb to his vest-pocket, from whence it always 
emerged in seasons of perplexity like the present, and 
took his accustomed seat at the table. 

“ If the Pierson boys disappoint me,” he remarked, 
breaking the silence which at his table always preceded 
a meal, “ I don’t know what will be done. I wish I had 
gone over to the village last evening to make sure of 
them, and let them know I was depending upon them.” 


124 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ If they disappoint thee, father, I will go out and 
help thee rake the hay,” said Mira. “ I would as lief 
do it as not.” 

“ Thee is a good child, Mira,” said her grandmother, 
a relieved smile crossing her wrinkled features. “ Many 
a day I have raked hay, and was never the worse for 
it, either.” 

“ Thee will do nothing of the kind,” said Prudence, 
ignoring the old lady’s remark and turning sharply 
upon Mira. “The currants are ripe, and must be 
picked to-day for jelly ; and as thee can neither do the 
baking or get the dinner or make the jelly, thee must 
pick the currants.” 

“I cannot but wish that thee had restrained thy 
impatience with Peter; at least, until harvest was 
over, Prudence,” remarked her father at this juncture. 
“ It would have been better for us all.” 

Now, Prudence was perfectly aware of this herself, 
and in her inmost heart regretted her ill-timed petu- 
lance ; but no one, to have heard her spirited reply, 
would have guessed her feeling upon the subject. 

“If he shirked in the field as he did about the 
house, father, I should think thee would consider it a 
good riddance. I do not believe he would ever have 
cut a stick of wood of evenings for next day or dug a 
potato if I had not been at him all the time.” 

“ I will pick the currants for thee, Prudence,” said 
her mother, mildly. “ If Mira can be of any help to 
father, thee should be willing to have her go.” 

So that point was settled, as was generally the case, 
in Mira’s favor ; and, putting on her gypsy sundown, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


125 


with rake in hand, and frisky as a young colt, Mira set 
out with her father to the field. 

In the mean time, Grandmother Atheling had arisen 
from her chair and gone to her room, which was on 
a level with the dining-room, and opened into it. 
“ Mira !” she called from the window, “ Mira, child, 
come here ; I want thee !” 

Mira turned, and, dropping her rake, ran swiftly 
and lightly up the steps of the porch, stepped airily 
upon the porch bench, and with a skip and a bound 
dropped through the window into her grandmother’s 
room. 

“ I want thee to put plantain-leaves in the crown of 
thy hat, to protect thee from the sun,” said her grand- 
mother, as Mira bestowed a kiss and a hug upon her 
which would have done credit to a young bear ; “ and 
put on these Nankin mittens; they will protect thy 
hands. I used to wear them years and years ago,” she 
continued, as she proceeded hastily to draw an old 
green chest from under her curtained bed. " It will 
not detain thee a minute, child,” as she noticed a little 
impatient shrug of her granddaughter’s shoulders, “ for 
I know exactly where they are.” 

The mittens were found and put on, and once more 
Mira skimmed through the window, flew down the 
steps, picked up her rake, and entered the field by the 
bars, just as the Pierson boys were coming over the 
fence on the opposite side. 

“ There are only two of them,” soliloquized Mira, 
shading her eyes with her hand, “ and father expected 
all three. I am glad, as one of them is missing, it 


126 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


happens to be Clem, for if there is anybody I despise 
it is that Clem Pierson.” 

“ Good-morning, Miss Mira,” said a cheery voice ; 
and, turning quickly, she encountered the roguish 
visage of the said Clem. 

“ I thought thee was not coming,” said Mira, flush- 
ing. i( Why did thee not come with the other boys, 
instead of sneaking along this way ?” 

“ I came around by the village to get a new straw 
hat,” said Clem, undauntedly ; “ I wanted it to match 
your gypsy.” 

“ Well, thee can take thyself and thy new straw hat 
to the other side of the field,” replied she, coldly ; “ as 
for me and my gypsy, we will stay here.” 

“ I would rather stay on this side,” said Clem, 
plaintively. “ Why do you want to drive me away, 
Mira ?” 

“ Because I came out to work and to help father, 
and not to waste time in talking,” replied she, begin- 
ning to use her rake vigorously. “I suppose thee 
knows that Peter went off in a huff last night,” she 
added, by way of explanation, “ and left us to get the 
hay in as best we could.” 

“ No, did he, though?” said Clem, encouraged by 
this sign of relenting. “ Well, if that don’t beat all !” 

“ Father would not have cared so much if he had 
waited until harvest was over, but it is just the way 
with them all,” she added, sententiously ; “ we keep 
them through the winter to have them in the summer, 
and when summer comes they are gone.” 

“ It is too bad !” said Clem, eying some fleecy 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


127 


clouds overhead. “ And the sun rose and went to bed 
again this morning, which is a sure sign it will rain 
before night.” 

Stimulated by this thought to new exertions, they 
both worked away diligently ; and, becoming gradually 
separated, silence for a time reigned between them. 

“ Hollo ! who are the boys calling to ?” said Clem, as, 
in returning, he commenced helping Mira pile up a bunch 
of hay she had raked together. “ A tramp, as I live !” 

“ Well, I declare !” replied his companion, gazing 
intently in the same direction ; “ it is a tramp, sure 
enough, and he is going to work ; see, he has taken the 
rake from one of the boys, and they are going to the 
barn for the team to commence hauling in.” 

“And look how awkwardly he handles it,” said 
Clem, contemptuously. “I don’t believe the fellow 
ever saw one before.” 

“ There will have to be more i piece’ sent out,” re- 
marked Mira, after a pause, and with the air of a vet- 
eran housekeeper ; “ the tramp will want some.” 

“ I think there will have to be a ‘ piece’ sent in 
pretty soon, or I am no judge ; the sun is getting too 
much for you, ain’t it, Mira?” 

“Oh, Clem, I do believe it is!” said poor Mira, 
faintly. “ Oh, I wish I was at the house !” 

“ Well, come right along, then, before you get any 
sicker,” said Clem, dropping his rake and taking 
Mira’s from her unresisting hand ; and with her reluc- 
tant arm in that of the despised Clem the twain took 
the shortest way to the house, Clem fanning her with 
the new straw hat as they walked along. 


128 


TIMOTHY: niS NEIGHBORS 


Once in the house Mira made a straight path for her 
grandmother's room, and with a sigh of relief sank 
upon the old chintz-covered lounge by the open win- 
dow, which ever since she could remember had been 
her comfortable resting-place in every ailment, as was 
her grandmother her balm for every woe. 

The love between Grandmother Atheling and Mira 
was exceedingly sweet and strong,, and yet Grand- 
mother Atheling was not connected to Jonas Levering 
or his family by one tie of blood. She was Mrs. Lev- 
ering's step-mother, had married her father when both 
were long past middle life, and having no near relative 
in the world (if we may except a brother, who left his 
home in early manhood, had not been heard from for 
years, and was given up as dead), she had come when 
Mira was an infant and Prudence but three years old 
to make her home with them. 

Mrs. Levering had always been delicate ; so the little 
Mira became her grandmother's especial care. Mrs. 
Atheling was a member of the Society of Friends, 
and the family gradually grew into using the plain 
language, although all but herself attended the little 
church at Dorton. Mira shared her grandmother’s room, 
and the figures of gay chariots and helmeted horsemen 
on the old-time bed-curtains had been among the first 
objects that attracted her childish notice. The corner 
cupboard was a Pandora's box of inexhaustible treats 
and sweet surprises to gratify her childish tastes, while 
the faint odor of dried rose-leaves which permeated her 
grandmother's room was to Mira the sweetest perfume 
in the world. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


129 


Although the two brothers, Archibald and Jonas 
Levering, lived near each other, and the families were 
on excellent terms, there was not as much intimacy as 
one might suppose. Archibald was not social in his 
nature, and Jonas was always busy, and generally sent 
the boy when anything was required from the mill, so 
the brothers seldom met. As for Caroline, the society 
of her cousins had few charms for her. Mira was too 
young in years and Prudence too old in her ways to 
suit her, and lonely and discontented as she was after 
her return from St. Louis, her visits to her uncle’s 
house were few. 

After seeing Mira safe and in good hands, Clem 
Pierson turned from the door and proceeded to the 
pump-shed, where he refreshed himself with a cool 
drink and laved his face and hands, while Prudence 
prepared the lunch for his expectant comrades in the 
field. 

“ There’s a tramp out there,” he remarked, as Pru- 
dence quartered pies and cut wedges of home-made 
cheese. “ He is as hard at work as any of us, and will 
want twice as much to eat, I expect. Better put in 
Miss Mira’s share extra for him.” 

“A tramp!” exclaimed Prudence, turning a horror- 
stricken face toward her informant. u What on earth 
possessed father ? Does he want us all killed in our 
beds?” 

“ Your father did not know anything about it,” said 
Clem. “ One of the boys called him and set him ta 
work. A lean, lank-looking fellow,” he continued, 
viewing his own muscular proportions with compla- 
12 


130 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

cency. “Nobody need be afraid of him. I don’t 
believe he is used to work either, and I saw him take 
a ring from his finger and slip it in his pocket.” 

“Oh, I expect he is a burglar or something,” 
thought Prudence to herself. “ I have felt all day that 
some evil would happen.” 

“ Hollo !” exclaimed Clem, as he started for the 
field with his basket and a jug of new milk. “ Here 
comes one of the boys leading the tramp, and, by all 
that’s jolly, he’s sick, too.” 

Prudence opened her. lips to speak, but it ended 
with a groan. 

“ Lay him on the porch-bench,” said Clem, “ while 
I slap some cold water in his face.” 

“ Suppose he should get very ill and maybe die here, 
what upon earth would we do?” thought Prudence. 
“ Oh, I wish I had not said so much to Peter !” 

Grandmother Atheling was in her element now with 
two invalids on her hands, and even Prudence took 
heart and her courage revived when, instead of the 
weather-beaten, villainous-looking scamp she expected 
to see, a handsome-featured, noble-countenanced youth 
claimed for a short time her compassion. But the sec- 
ond invalid was not so tractable as the first, perhaps 
because he had not the comforts of the figured cur- 
tains and rose-scented room. At all events, after re- 
clining for a little while and feeling revived, he re- 
solved to try the field again, and rising slowly, he 
prepared to look about him. At the same time Mira, 
who after so much bustle outside had noticed that all 
was still, concluded to rise and look about her also, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


131 


and the consequence was that the two harvesters had a 
momentary glimpse of each other, in which the tramp, 
looking in Mira’s eyes, bashfully noticed that they 
were of heaven’s own blue, while Mira blushingly 
averted hers from the honest hazel eyes of her com- 
patriot on the other side of the window. 

Three separate times did that indefatigable tramp 
take his place in the harvest-field that July day, and 
three separate times had he to resign and seek shelter 
from the sun, although after the first time he refused 
to return to the porch, but laid himself under the 
apple-tree, with his bundle for a pillow. 

“ Thee works too hard when thee is at it,” said good 
Jonas Levering, when the tramp was compelled to beat 
a retreat for the third time. “ Thee should take thy 
time and not waste more of thy strength than is neces- 
sary.” 

While the phenomenon, as we are constrained to 
designate a tramp to whom such advice could be ad- 
dressed, was recruiting for the fourth time, the Pierson 
boys were comfortably taking their five o’clock supper 
in the vine-covered porch. The hay, with the excep- 
tion of one load, was all safely housed, and that load 
was already at the barn-door; and although a storm 
was threatening and the western sky already darken- 
ing, they ate and chattered unconcernedly, knowing 
that all would be finished in time. 

“ Thee can keep some supper for him, Prudence,” 
said Jonas as he arose from the table, glancing through 
the window at the prostrate form under the apple-tree. 
“ Perhaps he can eat something when it gets cooler ; 


132 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


he has eaten nothing to-day, and has worked as hard as 
he was able.” 

“ And what about his lodging, father ? Thee cer- 
tainly does not intend to ask him to stay all night. 
Thee will just pay him and let him go.” 

“ If he is like the most of them, he will ask me to 
let him stay, instead of waiting to be invited ; but thee 
certainly knows me better than to suppose I would turn 
a fellow-creature away in a storm.” 

The last of the hay was stored, the evening work 
satisfactorily done, and the Pierson boys had taken 
their departure, when a thunder-storm which shook 
the farm-honse to its foundations conquered and held 
the whole family, tramp included, spellbound and ap- 
palled in Grandmother Atheling’s room, where Mira, 
timid by nature and rendered more so by the experi- 
ences of the day, crouched on the floor, with her head 
on her grandmother’s breast and the protecting arms of 
the old lady wrapped around her darling. 

At first a few big drops fell from the surcharged 
clouds, then sheets of rain swept the porches, the wind 
careened madly over the chimneys and tree-tops, and 
each blinding flash of lightning was instantly followed 
by a resounding clap of thunder. 

“ Thee is not timid !” remarked Mrs. Levering to 
the tramp, as he and Mr. Levering made a move to 
view the state of affairs from the porch ; for the storm 
had subsided, and all was silent save low growls of 
thunder far away. 

“ I used to be, ma’am, as timid as she,” looking com- 
passionately at Mira; “ but my mother always talked 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


133 


to us during a storm and kept us interested in count- 
ing between the flash of lightning and the report which 
followed, enabling us to compute the distance between 
us and the storm.” 

“ Then thy mother is living ?” said Prudence, sur- 
prised into interest, and with a relieved look on her 
somewhat fretful features; for somehow a mother was 
a commodity she had never thought of giving a tramp 
the credit of possessing. 

“Oh, yes, miss, my father and mother are both liv- 
ing; he is a wholesale merchant in the city. We live 
on Lombard Street.” 

You see the boy had not for a moment supposed that 
they had mistaken him for a tramp, so he gave his bit 
of information as simply and unassumingly as he would 
have done to one of his father’s country customers who 
had come to the city to lay in his season’s stock. 

An awkward pause followed. Mira arose and. took 
a seat, while Prudence was mentally shifting his sleep- 
ing-place from Peter’s room to the best spare chamber, 
when the boy, who instinctively felt that something 
more was expected of him, said, — 

“ I went to school very steadily, and the doctor said 
I studied too hard and was injuring my health, and ad- 
vised father to let me come to the country for a while ; 
and if I could get work on a farm, so much the better. 
Father is going to send me to college this winter.” 

“ Our boy Peter, who helped about the place and in 
the field when necessary, left us yesterday,” said Jonas, 
hesitatingly. “ I suppose thee would not be willing to 
take his place, as thy father, no doubt, is a rich man ?” 

12 * 


134 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“But I am not,” replied the boy, smilingly, and 
showing, as Prudence thought, the handsomest set of 
teeth she had ever seen. “ I will take Peter’s place as 
far as willingness goes. But I don’t know much; you 
will have to teach me what to do.” 

“Had thee any place in view when thee set out?” 
questioned Mr. Levering. 

“ None at all. My trunk is at the inn, at Dorton, 
and I set out this morning with the intention of send- 
ing for it whenever I found a place where they were 
willing to put up with my awkwardness for my board. 
I am eighteen years old, and my name is Garnet Adri- 
ance.” 

Jonas and his new employ^ adjourned to the porch. 

“Have the ladies any objection to the smell of a 
cigar?” inquired Garnet as they took seats, selecting 
one from a silver cigar-case and offering the case to 
Mr. Levering. 

“ I really do not know,” said Mr. Levering, declin- 
ing the favor; and then, after a pause, which the young 
man improved by striking a match and igniting his cigar 
with a dexterity which showed practice, he added, 
“Does thy father approve of thy smoking?” 

“Oh, yes, sir,” replied Garnet; “he smokes him- 
self. Why, you could scarcely see yourself up in our 
smoking-room of evenings when father entertains a 
party of his friends.” 

“No, it injures the eyes,” said Jonas, reflectively; 
“and I hope after thee is with me awhile I will have 
convinced thee that it injures in every way.” 

In the mean time, Prudence and the rest of the house- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


135 


hold cabinet were discussing the new aspect of affairs 
in all its bearings. Now that the tramp question was 
laid aside, Prudence expressed her opinion that the 
guest-chamber, instead of Peter’s room, was the proper 
place fdr the son of a wholesale merchant, while Mrs. 
Levering mildly but firmly took another view of the 
case. 

“ I am sure he does not wish or expect to be treated 
as a guest,” she averred. “ I would put him in Peter’s 
room ; it is clean and comfortable, and that is all he 
requires.” 

Mira said nothing, and Grandmother Atheling also 
held her peace, well knowing that to any advice she 
would give Prudence would turn a deaf ear and take 
the opposite course from any she proposed. 

And so it came to pass that Garnet was domiciled 
under the roof of good Farmer Levering, and was not 
long in finding out that the surest way to Mira’s favor 
was to pay respect to Grandmother Atheling, and that 
Prudence would not have been at all displeased could 
he have found it in his heart to slight the inoffensive 
old lady, who took all existence so kindly and pla- 
cidly. 

Garnet Adriance was not only naturally industrious, 
but he was a born genius, and the whole family were 
charmed with the variety of his attainments. He was 
here, there, and everywhere. He attended to the stock 
with unflagging interest ; he split wood and dug pota- 
toes for Prudence with praiseworthy fidelity and with 
an unction, as though they were the most pleasant 
pastimes in the world; he fixed broken latches and 


136 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


rusty locks about the house and barn equal to a lock- 
smith; he glazed windows ; he made flower-racks for 
Mira ; he yoked an unruly goose for Mrs. Levering, 
and put a new rivet in Grandmother Atheling’s spec- 
tacles. He repaired a dilapidated gate and broke a 
colt to harness, and Mr. Levering reported him “as 
good a hand in the field as anybody need want, after 
he got used to the sun.” 

When the cool evenings set in and the little hickory 
fire burned clear and bright on the hearth in the open 
fireplace in grandmother’s room, the claw-footed table, 
or “ tea-tray,” as grandmother called it, was drawn before 
the cheerful blaze, and Garnet taught Mira to play chess, 
or read aloud from some new and interesting book with 
which his family kept him supplied, or recounted the 
sayings and doings of the gay world which he had left, 
as he supposed, but for a short time. Grandmother 
Atheling sat by, knitting in hand, as happy as Mira her- 
self, and was even beguiled occasionally into recount- 
ing incidents of her own youthful days, than which 
Garnet and Mira thought nothing could be pleasanter. 

As for Garnet, he was happier than he had ever 
been in his life. The gay, pretty chatter of Mira, the 
joyous laugh, the glad, girlish movements of the lithe, 
graceful form, the shy, sweet embarrassment of her 
manner, the roguish dimples coquetting around the 
rosy lips, were the sweetest pleasures he had ever 
known. His letters to his home were filled with his 
new life, and the names of every one of Jonas Lever- 
ing’s family were as household words in the handsome 
dwelling on Lombard Street. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


137 


Prudence gave no sign of the heartaches which all 
this happiness gave her, but gravely, decorously, and 
matter-of-factly sat of evenings with her father and 
mother, crocheting endless patterns of edging and lis- 
tening to the merry voices in the adjoining room. She 
had never honored that room with her society of even- 
ings before Garnet came to live with them, and she 
knew that there was no one in the place dull-witted 
enough not to notice it if she made a change in favor 
of it now. The only relief to the monotony of her 
life was when Clem Pierson came in to spend a chance 
evening and to catch, if possible, a glimpse of Mira, — a 
hope which he cherished from time to time, but which 
was to him always a hope deferred, while to Garnet 
it was a living, sweet reality. 

Winter came on, and although Garnet received let- 
ters regularly from his family and once or twice had 
paid a short visit to his home, nothing was said of his 
going to college, and he was too satisfied with the 
happy state of affairs at the farm to broach a subject 
that would take him from Mira. He noticed, more- 
over, that his father looked careworn and was not in 
his usual spirits, and had also hinted more than once 
of retrenchment in the family expenses, so Garnet flat- 
tered himself that he was doing a filial kindness to 
avoid harassing his father with the extra expense a 
collegiate course would entail. 

Garnet was right. One of those convulsions which 
not unfrequently agitate business circles had been 
threatening for some time, and finally the crash came, 
involving the old-established house of Adriance in the 


138 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


general ruin. Poor Mr. Adriance in his declining 
years was glad to accept a clerkship in the store of 
which he had been proprietor, and his family was com- 
pelled to move into smaller quarters in a less eligible 
neighborhood. Garnet remained at the farm, gradu- 
ally becoming an excellent farmer under the judicious 
teaching of Jonas, who could not have borne to part 
with him, for, two years after the failure of Mr. Adri- 
ance, a sudden and unexpected trouble fell upon Jonas, 
and through it all Garnet was to him as a dutiful son. 

Jonas in a moderate way had been a prosperous 
farmer, but in an unfortunate hour he became security 
for a neighbor, which at the time he and all concerned 
thought a mere matter of form, so much so that it had 
almost escaped his memory until the force of circum- 
stances brought it again, with sorrow in its train, to his 
remembrance. His neighbor failed, and his failure cost 
j Jonas his farm and everything upon it. Jonas did not 
long survive this calamity, and his gentle wife soon 
followed, leaving Prudence and Mira penniless. The 
farm was put up for sale, and a gentleman from the 
city bought it merely as a speculation, seeing it was 
selling so low, and was inquiring for a tenant for it 
when Prudence suggested Clem Pierson. 

One cool autumn evening there was, as usual, the lit- 
tle hickory fire burning on the hearth in grandmother’s 
room, and the same faces gathered around it, happy be- 
cause they were together, although Grandmother Athel- 
ing’s form was a little more bowed, her eyes a little 
dimmer, her hair a little grayer, while Mira’s sweet sunny 
countenance wore a touch of gravity from the sorrows 


AND HIS FRIENDS . 


139 


she had borne, while from the pale, delicate youth Garnet 
had developed into a handsome specimen of noble man- 
hood. 

Clem Pierson had been spending the evening with 
Prudence, and had just taken leave, when there came a 
tap on grandmother’s door, and Prudence entered. 

“ I wish to have a few words with you,” she said in a 
constrained voice, while a gleam of gratified pique crossed 
her cold features, “and as it concerns you all, I thought 
it best to mention it while you are all together. Clem- 
ent Pierson, as you are aware, has rented the place, and 
as we expect to take possession the beginning of the 
year, it will be necessary for you to find other homes. 
Mira can stay if she wishes, as I shall need some one 
to assist me, but she can do exactly as she wishes in 
the matter.” And turning abruptly, she left the room. 

A dead silence followed. A dull gray pallor like 
that of death crept over Grandmother Atheling’s wrin- 
kled face, while her trembling hands were reached in a 
blind, groping way toward her grandchild. Mira threw 
herself on her knees beside her and clasped the aged 
form in her strong young arms. 

“ I will never leave thee, grandmother,” she cried; 
“ never, never leave thee !” 

“ Say it again, darling,” sobbed Grandmother Atliel- 
ing; “say that nobody, nothing shall part thee and 
me.” 

“ Give me a right to protect and care for you both,” 
said Garnet, coming forward ; “ give her to me, grand- 
mother, and the humble home I am able to provide 
shall be as much yours as ours. See,” continued he, 


140 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


taking a letter from his coat, “ this very day I received 
the appointment as teacher in the Dorton Academy. 
We will take a house in the village if Mira consents, 
and, God willing, we will have a home together the 
remainder of our lives.” 

Another tap from Prudence prevented Mira’s reply. 
Prudence always knocked in those days. 

“Here is a letter for thee,” she said, holding it at 
arm’s length toward Grandmother Atheling. “ Clem- 
ent brought it from the village this evening, and I for- 
got it when I was in before.” 

Grandmother had recovered her composure, although 
her eyes were still moist, and she received the letter in 
her usual placid way. 

“ Open it, Mira, child,” she said, as the door closed 
on the retreating form of Prudence; “it is the first 
letter I have received in many years.” 

It was from Garnet’s father. Mr. Adriance wrote 
enclosing an advertisement cut from a daily paper 
making inquiry for one Mira Atheling, whose maiden 
name had been Mira Mantz, adding that if living she 
would hear of something to her advantage by applying 
to Lauren Dubreuil, a well-known attorney-at-law, 
under whose name the notice was issued. Garnet’s 
father added a few lines to say that the attorney was 
an old friend of his, and he would call upon him to 
ascertain the nature of the “advantage,” and also to 
tell him what he had heard through Garnet of Mrs. 
Atheling. 

The next day Prudence was astounded by another 
letter for Grandmother Atheling, and Timothy, who 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


141 


was the bearer of it, had his inherent politeness and 
respect for ladies put to the test as it had not been 
since he had taken up his abode in the neighborhood. 

“ Where did you get it, boy?” said Prudence, ab- 
ruptly, as she took the letter from Timothy’s freckled 
hand. 

“ I was at Dorton for Mrs. Carleton’s mail, and the 
postmaster asked me to bring it along and see that Mrs. 
Atheling received it promptly, as it was a business 
letter.” 

u Well, what are you waiting for?” said Prudence, 
sharply, after attentively scanning the address. “ Do 
you expect pay for bringing it ?” 

Timothy’s face flushed, and quick tears of anger suf- 
fused his eyes. “ I thought perhaps you might wish 
to thank me,” he said, almost haughtily. 

“ You did as you were told, and I do not know that 
you require thanks for that.” 

Timothy turned away, and Prudence again regarded 
attentively the address upon the letter before knocking 
at Grandmother Atheling’s door. 

A corner of the envelope contained the name of 
Lawyer Dubreuil, with the customary request to be 
returned within a specified time if not called for, — a 
request which seemed to Prudence to bristle with im- 
portance in proportion to its mystery. 

Lawyer Dubreuil had written to say that a brother of 
one Mira Atheling — n&e Mantz — had died in Australia 
and had left considerable property to his only relative, 
the said Mira Atheling, and all that was required to 
come into full possession was to prove her identity. 

13 


142 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Time passed on. Garnet took the class in the acad- 
emy, but not the house in the village, for Grandmother 
Atlieling had other plans in view for her darling Mira. 
During the winter, her identity having been proven 
without difficulty, she received her property, and, send- 
ing for the owner of the farm, she made him so liberal an 
offer for it that he was glad to accept. Clem Pierson also 
was bought off, and was willing under the circumstances 
to resign his contract, much to the chagrin of Prudence, 
now Mrs. Clement Pierson ; surmising which, he took 
good care not to enlighten her until the transaction 
was completed, and she was compelled, with as good 
grace as she could assume, to reside in the small house 
in the village of which Garnet had spoken, while Clem 
cropped the Bowlsly farm, which had been bought by 
Mark Bryor. 

Garnet and Mira were united under the home-roof, 
all of Garnet’s family being present, and the evening 
of the wedding, Grandmother Atheling, as a marriage 
gift, made them joint proprietors of the farm, the home 
where they had passed so many happy hours, and where 
they hoped to pass many more. 

For the threatened danger had happily passed away; 
the rose-scented room remained unchanged ; the gay 
chariots and valiant horsemen still seemed to be in 
motion as the ancient curtains waved in the soft sum- 
mer breeze which floated through the deep-silled, open 
windows; the patchwork-cushioned rocking-chairs still 
held their motherly arms invitingly out; the worsted 
footstools, upon one of which Grandmother Atheling 
had in her young days wrought an improbable dog 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


143 


and upon the other an impossible cat, still looked un- 
fadingly and unblinkingly at each other across the gay 
rug on the hearth. 

Day by day Mira grew dearer to Garnet, as wifehood 
and motherhood developed her sweet nature, and Grand- 
mother Atheling appeared to have taken a new lease of 
life in the dear home where peace and happiness ever 
reigned, because love was the corner-stone. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A CONSULTATION. 

“ And of moments bereft of thy smile, love, 

I am always counting the cost ; 

They are so many sunbeams wasted, 

And so many joys that are lost.” 

A year had passed away since the brownstone front 
had become a boarding-house, and the undertaking 
proved to be a complete success. 

All the gloomy forebodings that had beset Mrs. 
Amanda Levering had been forgotten in the prosper- 
ous state of affairs about her, and the activity of body 
and mind developed by her changed circumstances. 
The genial, refined society by which she was surrounded, 
and the pleasure of having her mother always with her, 
reconciled her to any little discomforts which crossed 
her path. She had not lost caste among those with 


144 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

whom she wished to mingle, as she had darkly pro- 
phesied; instead, handsome equipages were very fre- 
quently waiting before the main entrance, and her 
mother and herself received as many calls from those 
whose acquaintance was worth retaining, as they had 
done in their most palmy days. 

In addition to her executive ability, Mrs. Garrigue 
possessed a trait which those who were accustomed to 
boarding found exceedingly rare. She never, in the 
presence of her boarders, discussed the servant question 
or the price of provisions. That she had her trials with 
servants it were rank heresy to doubt, but they were 
confined to the kitchen, or other family departments of 
the household, and never formed a theme for parlor or 
table conversation. Yes, Mrs. Garrigue and Mrs. Lev- 
ering were leading a prosperous and busy, therefore a 
happy and, in the main, contented life. To be sure, 
there were the customary annoyances which appear in- 
separable from boarding-houses ; the pair of lovers, for 
instance, and the inevitable amateur player and drum- 
mer upon the piano. 

The lovers belonging to the Garrigue boarding- 
house were a model couple indeed ; so devoted to each 
other, so oblivious to the miniature world around them, 
that they monopolized the parlor every evening of their 
lives with as much sang-froid as though they were 
Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. To give them 
due credit, they did not by hint or look intimate a de- 
sire for such monopoly, but when a lady boarder with 
crocheting or other fancy work in hand descended to the 
parlor after tea, wishing to spend a social evening, she 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


145 


found no one but the lovers, and, after sitting a short 
time and finding herself de trop , she sought again the 
seclusion of her room. Perhaps another lady tried 
the experiment with like result ; and in time it began 
to be an understood thing that the boarders should 
spend their evenings in their own rooms or that of 
their friends, and leave the parlor to the lovers. It 
was not the pleasant meeting-ground it had been the 
winter before, when all the ladies and gentlemen in 
the house, and perhaps guests of the different boarders, 
met of evenings and had a social time. 

Applications for board from eligible parties had been 
very frequent, owing as much to the delightful society 
to be found under its roof as to the excellent manage- 
ment of the establishment, and Mrs. Garrigue did not 
wish that impression changed. She was at her wit’s 
end, and resolved to ask advice of her ally, Lawyer 
Dubreuil. 

“ They are really driving everybody out of the par- 
lor of evenings,” said she, plaintively, “ although I will 
do them the justice to think that they are innocent of 
such intention.” 

“ Just so, just so, my dear madam; they are blind, — 
blind as bats to everybody but each other. Well, well, 
it is really wonderful how silly young people are when 
they are in love ; the ostrich, with its head stuck in the 
sand of the desert, is a Socrates in comparison.” 

“ You are fertile in expedients, Mr. Dubreuil; cannot 
you suggest some plan I can adopt for the benefit of your- 
self and the other boarders without offending them ?” 

Mr. Dubreuil considered. “It has always been a 
13 * 


146 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


maxim of my life, my dear madam, that in union there 
is strength ; could not you ladies organize and descend 
in a body, and so rout the common enemy ?” 

“ I do not care to make it a subject of discussion if 
it can be avoided,” replied Mrs. Garrigue. “ They are 
both valuable boarders ; besides, I esteem them as per- 
sonal friends. I also take an interest in the attachment, 
and if it amounts to anything, which at this time it bids 
fair to do, think it would be an excellent and suitable 
match. But that does not help me out of my diffi- 
culty,” she concluded, with a sigh. 

“ Quite true, my dear madam, quite true ; and that 
is the point to be considered just now.” 

“ Independent of the lady boarders, who are ham- 
pered up in their rooms of evenings,” continued Mrs. 
Garrigue, “ there are those young medical students and 
the other gentlemen, who are compelled to spend their 
evenings out, because they have no social evenings here 
such as they had last winter; we must really devise 
some way to bring about a change of affairs.” 

“ Some amusement or other,” replied Mr. Dubreuil ; 
“something that will amuse the lovers as well as the 
others. Well, well, my dear madam, give me a little 
time to consider ; it has always been a maxim of mine 
to be sure you are right, then go ahead.” 

“ Take as much time as you think best,” replied the 
lady, “but I hope you will succeed in thinking of some- 
thing practicable soon, or I fear I shall be under the 
necessity of giving the lovers a gentle hint, which I 
should be loath to do.” 

The next morning, at the breakfast-table, Lawyer 


AND BIS FRIENDS . 


147 


Dubreuil rose and made a short speech, which was 
listened to with due attention, and elicited marks of 
approval. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, you are all invited to assem- 
ble in the parlor this evening. I have a plan in view 
for spending our evenings this winter pleasantly and, I 
hope, profitably, and would like your assistance in carry- 
ing it out.” 

Evening came. After so much speculation and dis- 
cussion through the day, it was not surprising that every 
boarder was present in the parlor. It was suggested, 
and met with unanimous approval, that a literary club 
be organized, to include every lady and gentleman in 
the house, each member being privileged to invite one 
guest to the fortnightly meeting of the society, which 
was to be called the “Garrigue Literary Society.” 
Lawyer Dubreuil was appointed president, and Mrs. 
Garrigue vice-president. Then Mr. Dubreuil nominated 
one of the lovers for secretary, and the other for treas- 
urer; seconded by Mrs. Garrigue, and passed, to the 
satisfaction of the new treasurer and secretary, which 
was the main object the little lawyer had in view. 

Of the lovers, the gentleman was Mr. Muncaster, a 
law student in the office of Mr. Dubreuil, and the lady 
was Miss Sallie Kemp, the only daughter of a wealthy 
old gentleman who was also a boarder, but who, being 
an invalid, retired to his room as soon as his frugal sup- 
per of bread and milk was finished, and was seen no 
more until next day. 

One prominent feature of the fortnightly meeting 
was, that whatever the literary offering tendered by the 


148 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


member appointed to provide it for that particular 
evening, let it be sketch, story, poem, or essay, it must 
be original with that member. Three at least must be 
provided for each evening, but four would be preferred ; 
and any guest of a member who provided an original 
article would receive the thanks of the society. Be- 
tween the readings charades, tableaux, conversation, 
and music were to give variety to the exercises. 

Four evenings of each week the members were to 
meet in the parlor, at least all who could make it con- 
venient to do so, to arrange the tableaux, and to assist 
those who were appointed to prepare original papers, if 
such assistance were desired ; and it was expressly stipu- 
lated that no member should decline to prepare the 
article if it fell to that member’s share to do so, but 
they were privileged to decline reading it themselves 
should they so desire. A small admission-fee was to be 
charged, both of members and guests, to be appropriated 
at the last of the season for the purchase of an auto- 
graph album for every member of the club, to be kept 
as a memento of the winter’s amusement. 

The secretary was called upon to take the names of 
all the members upon separate slips of paper, and when 
the drawing for the first original article was made, the 
name of Mrs. Amanda Levering was drawn. 

“ Oh, please excuse me !” cried the lady, blushingly. 
“I never wrote but one sketch in my life, and that was 
a school composition.” 

“ And that won the prize,” said Mrs. Muller, smil- 
ingly. “ You see I was there, my dear Mrs. Levering, 
and know all about it.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


149 


Considerable merriment followed this reply. 

“ Besides, it is unparliamentary to decline,” lisped 
Mr. Walter Bridges, one of the medical students. “ If 
it had been my name that was drawn, you should see 
how 4 willingly I would comply.” 

“ Ignorance is certainly bliss,” quoted Dr. Seneca 
Watts, the other medical student, sotto voce. 

“ Perhaps your turn may come next, my promising 
youth,” replied the president, smilingly, to Mr. Bridges, 
with a look which promised that it should, if possible, 
happen that way. 

“ Can he not take my place ?” inquired Mrs. Lever- 
ing, deprecatingly. “ I will do all I can to assist him in 
preparing his sketch.” 

“ You can call on any member to assist you also,” 
remarked Lawyer Dubreuil, consolingly. “ Please set 
a good example and conform to the rules of the so- 
ciety.” 

“ But I can never read it myself ; I should break 
down at the very first paragraph,” said Mrs. Amanda. 

“You need not; I nominate Miss Prudie Harman 
as the reader of Mrs. Levering’s paper.” 

“ I second the motion,” said Mrs. Garrigue. And it 
was decided that Miss Harman, an excellent elocutionist, 
should read the first paper for the “ Garrigue Literary 
Society.” 

At the second ballot, strange to say, “ Mr. Walter 
Bridges” was the name drawn. 

Mrs. Levering’s blushes were dim in comparison to 
those of Mr. Bridges. “ Why, I never was known to 
write an original paragraph in my life,” lisped he. 


150 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ Except a recipe for hair-oil,” corrected Dr. Seneca 
Watts. 

“ It is unparliamentary to decline,” remarked Mrs. 
Levering. 

“ And you can have all the members to help you,” 
said the vice-president. 

u I will read it,” volunteered Miss Prudie Harman. 

" I feel like a bird in a snare, or a fish in a net,” 
said the hapless youth ; and it was noticeable that he 
fell into a revery which lasted until the third ballot 
decided that the third original article was to be pre- 
pared by Dr. Seneca Watts, when he came out of his 
study of a theme, to unite in the general laugh at the 
discomfiture of Dr. Seneca. 

The fourth writer was not drawn by ballot, but any 
member or guest who was willing to add to the pleas- 
ure of the evening was solicited to thus oblige. The 
society then adjourned. 

u That was a stroke of policy, my dear madam ; 
that was a stroke of policy, — that of giving the lovers 
each an office,” said Lawyer Dubreuil to Mrs. Gar- 
rigue after the members were scattered and in groups 
about the spacious parlor. “ It was on the principle 
adopted by physicians, who use a counter-irritant in 
obstinate cases ; the only difference is we reverse it and 
use a counter-amusement.” 

“ And a very effective principle it bids fair to be,” 
smiled Mrs. Garrigue. 

“ That was a grain of wisdom I gathered while teach- 
ing a district school, when quite a young man, in a lit- 
tle village named Dorton. I have never forgotten it.” 


AND HIS FRIENpS. 151 

Mrs. Garrigue’s appreciative smile encouraged him 
to proceed. 

“ You see the young people of the neighborhood 
every winter had a society which they called a lyceum, 
which met once a week in the school-house, the school- 
teacher always being president. Well, my dear madam, 
every evening they were annoyed by four or five large 
boys, who congregated outside and amused themselves 
by pounding on the shutters, whistling through the 
key-hole, and occasionally throwing stones against the 
door. The teacher had no more authority over them 
than any one else, so they had to endure what they 
could not cure. Well, my dear madam, without taking 
undue praise to myself, I wish to tell you how I put an 
end to the whole annoyance. Why, the simplest way 
in the world. I persuaded them all inside, and gave 
every renegade of them an office. To be sure, we had 
to manufacture a few to suit the exigency, but no mat- 
ter, they each had an office and felt of as much account 
as anybody, and, my dear Mrs. Garrigue, it worked 
like a charm.” 

The evening for the first meeting of the club came 
round. Every member was present, ard many of them 
had an invited guest. The admiision-fees rattled 
merrily into the treasurer’s box, the literary exercises 
were remarkable for their excellence, and everything 
passed off well. 

The lovers sat together on a divan, and were as much 
interested as one could expect under the circumstances. 
The first meeting of the Garrigue Literary Society was 


a success. 


152 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


CHAPTER XII. 

CAROLINE^ LOVER. 

“ When thou art near, 

The sweetest joys still sweeter seem, 

The brightest hopes more bright appear, 

And life is all one happy dream, 

When thou art near.” 

To Caroline Levering, reared in a retired farm-house, 
everything in and around her uncle’s elegant home, 
situated on one of the most fashionable streets of St. 
Louis, came with the force of novelty, and each and 
every pleasure was anticipated and enjoyed to the full. 

She was young and inexperienced, but also apt and 
intelligent, and developed more in the first three 
months of her visit than in any one year of her exist- 
ence at home. This new life just suited her mercurial 
disposition, and she dropped naturally into the luxuri- 
ous manner of living, so different from anything she 
had ever experienced or even imagined. She enjoyed 
everything; days and weeks flew by on golden wings ; 
she never before had thought that life could be so full 
of interest and pleasure. 

All the education Caroline had received previous to 
her leaving home was obtained at the district school 
in Dorton. 

In the winter this school was given up to boys, and 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


153 


the girls of the neighborhood who were too large to go 
to Cousin Melie’s little home-school had to be satisfied 
with what instruction they could gain through the 
summer months. Caroline’s education, therefore, was 
limited. Her cousin Sylvia had, however, an excel- 
lent governess, whom Dr. and Mrs. Harkness re- 
quested to bestow the same care upon the education of 
Caroline as upon their daughter, and Caroline applied 
herself so diligently to study that her progress sur- 
prised and charmed them all. 

But a few days remained of the old year 18 — (eigh- 
teen hundred and dash, as Dickens says), and the usual 
preparations for welcoming the new were briskly pro- 
gressing at the home of Dr. Harkness. It was Caro- 
line’s first winter there, and she entered into the spirit 
of the thing with keen interest, for Mrs. Harkness, 
after due consideration, had decided to let Sylvia and 
Caroline help entertain the callers, although Caroline 
was only fourteen, and her cousin but a year older. 

For years past no New-Year receptions had eclipsed 
those of Mrs. Harkness, and she decided that this 
should not be an exception. Several young lady 
friends each year assisted her in doing the honors, 
whose toilets were marvels of richness and artistic 
beauty, and those of Sylvia and Caroline, while suit- 
able for girls of their age, she was solicitous to have 
tasteful and becoming. As for her refreshments^ she 
decided that they should surpass those of any previous 
year. 

“ There is one bother I always have,” she had re- 
marked one afternoon while she and the girls, pencil 
14 


154 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


and memorandum-book in hand, were making out the 
list of refreshments: “I expect nothing else but Brother 
James will come meddling around protasting against my 
offering wine to our callers. I declare he vexed me so 
last year with his puritanical notions that I was almost 
tempted to tell him to oblige me by not calling upon us 
on New-Year’s days, if the mere sight of wine upset 
him so.” 

“I wonder if your brother James really thinks it 
wrong, or considers that because he is a minister it is his 
duty to frown down everything of the kind?” remarked 
Caroline. 

“ Oh, he is sincere, you may depend. You ought to 
have heard the parlor sermon he preached to me last 
New Year about ‘leading some soul to ruin by my 
thoughtless persistence in having intoxicating bever- 
ages ;’ but his twaddle counts as nothing with me. I 
am twenty years older than he is, brought him through 
the measles and whooping-cough, and consider myself 
quite as capable of managing my own affairs as he is 
to manage them for me.” 

“ There is no truer proverb,” said Caroline, laugh- 
ingly, “than ‘A prophet is not without honor save in 
his own country.’ What would some of Mr. Ridgely’s 
parishioners, who look upon him as almost infallible, 
think to hear you ?” 

“Oh, I think the world of him too,” said Mrs. 
Ilarkness, quickly. “ His only fault lies in being too 
good; he makes mountains out of mole-hills, and seems 
to think every little innocent thimbleful of wine as a 
pitfall to catch unwary youth. But somehow I can 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 155 

never look upon his opinion in any light but a boyish 
enthusiasm which will subside as he grows older.” 

“ What does Uncle Harkness say to your brother’s 
interference ?” 

“He just laughs at him for worrying, and me for 
being provoked at it; but as he sees I always carry the 
day, he troubles himself no further.” 

“Perhaps he will not say anything about it this 
year,” remarked Sylvia, “as no evil result ever fol- 
lowed any of our receptions.” 

“ I am looking for him every day,” sighed her 
mother. 

“ I don’t believe that any gentleman that ever called 
here has ever been a bit the worse of the wine they 
drank,” continued Sylvia, “ and our wine is noted for 
its age and excellence, and some of them drank a good 
deal.” 

“ I reminded Brother James of that last year,” said 
Mrs. Harkness; “and I took time by the forelock, and 
told him some time ago that it was not worth while to 
prepare any arguments for this year, for we would not 
be the first to set an example of penuriousness.” 

“Poor Uncle James!” laughed Sylvia; “he put on 
the longest face you ever saw, and sighed as bitterly as 
though the faults of the whole community were on his 
shoulders, but he only said, ‘ The future will tell.”’ 

“ Well, he certainly will not force his opinions upon 
you this year,” remarked Caroline, serenely, “ when he 
knows it will be of no use.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” remarked Mrs. Hark- 
ness. “ He always had the most persevering nature I 


156 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


ever knew. He never gives up a notion he once takes 
in his head ; it appears to me that opposition only 
strengthens him in his opinions. Why, when he was 
a little fellow he would have his notions of right and 
wrong, and after one had fatigued one’s self nearly to 
death arguing a point with him, the first thing you 
knew, without any talk about it, he was having his 
own way. Oh, I know him thoroughly; but I am 
going to have my own way in my own house, as much 
as I think of him.” 

Sabbath morning dawned bright and beautiful, and 
the Harkness family went to church, as was their regu- 
lar habit. Brother James had not been around with 
his customary New-Year’s remonstrance, and Mrs. 
Harkness, though professing to care but little for his 
opinion, was rather jubilant in consequence. She re- 
signed herself to his discourse, at peace with him and 
all the world, notwithstanding the sealskin cloak in the 
pew before her wrapped in its soft folds a rigid temper- 
ance woman, who had once been a Crusader. 

The sermon was over, and Brother James, with a 
slight tremor in his voice, begged the attention of the 
congregation for a few moments longer. He wished to 
ask them not to place alcoholic drinks upon their recep- 
tion-tables on the coming New-Year’s day. 

u I scarcely deem it necessary, my friends, to give this 
advice, or to utter this desire, as I feel almost sure there 
are no families in my congregation, with one exception 
(glancing toward his brother-in-law’s pew), who are 
willing to turn their parlors into bar-rooms on New- 
Year’s day, or any other day. If I thought so I would 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


157 


beg them to consider well before laying such traps for 
unwary feet. Many a ydung man,” he continued, “ who 
would shun a place which was kept for the sole purpose 
of dispensing liquors, would be tempted to drink among 
friends whom they looked upon as examples, and when 
fair ladies were the tempters. Do not, my friends,” he 
concluded, “sully the first page of this fair New Year 
with such a blot.” 

There was one person, at the very lowest calculation, 
in Dr. Harkness’s pew who, compelled to be silent, was 
swelling with combined indignation and shame. Sev- 
eral other pairs of eyes, guided by those of the minis- 
ter, had travelled stealthily in that direction, and the 
sealskin coat, which, by reason of proximity, could not 
see how neighbor Harkness relished this home-thrust, 
nodded a cordial acquiescence with the minister’s senti- 
ments. 

The feelings of Mrs. Harkness that afternoon, we are 
sorry to record, were anything but devotional. Anger 
at her brother’s underhand mode of attack, as she con- 
sidered it, was the predominant feeling, and plans of 
ways to show her resentment, without drawing upon 
herself or him the censure of his congregation, occupied 
her mind the best part of the afternoon. Not that she 
wished to really wound or offend him ; her pride in him, 
and affection for him, was deep and strong; she only 
wished to let him know that she was tired of his un- 
warrantable interference in her affairs, and to let him 
know once for all he was not to lecture her in public 
with impunity. 

“ To think,” she complained to the other members of 
14 * 


158 


TIMOTHY : HIS NEIGHBORS 


the family at tea-time, “ he had no more regard for my 
feelings than to draw the attention of the whole church 
toward me ! I saw several look around to see how I 
took it, and felt that all were doing so.” 

Brother James had noticed it also, and although not 
regretting his action in the matter, was saddened and 
depressed that it was his sister whom his conscience 
compelled him thus publicly to rebuke. As for Dr. 
Harkness, he enjoyed the whole affair heartily, and 
treated himself to a hearty laugh every time he thought 
of it. In all the little diversities of opinion between 
his better half and himself she came off in flying colors 
and left him nowhere ; and that Brother James, whom 
he had always looked upon as the meekest of men, had 
shown himself equal to the emergency, filled him with 
admiration, and awakened a deeper respect for one 
whom he had always looked upon as too amiable to 
have much moral courage. 

“ I hope, now, he will call to-morrow,” said Mrs. 
Harkness, angrily, to Sylvia. “ I want to admonish him 
that I am not to be lectured in church by a boy.” 

Several groups of gentlemen were standing conversing 
with the ladies, and with each other, in the elegant par- 
lors of the Harkness mansion when Brother James 
made his call. 

Sylvia and Caroline had received orders from Mrs. 
Harkness not to offer him refreshments, as she wished 
to take that duty upon herself. She was in no hurry 
about it, either, but allowed him to mingle with the 
other gentlemen until it suited her convenience. 

Caroline, looking as sweet as a violet in her simple 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


159 


but elegant toilet, had received the callers and ex- 
changed the compliments of the season with the ease 
and composure of one long accustomed to society, and, 
withdrawing aside from the others, was for a moment 
looking at something on the street. As she turned from 
the window her hand was taken and held tightly in that 
of Mr. Ridgely. “ I can do nothing with my sister 
and niece,” he said ; “ they are joined to their idols. 
You are yet innocent of leading a fellow-creature into 
temptation; this hand is yet guiltless of a brother’s 
blood ; promise me to keep it so.” 

Caroline glanced up at the form which towered above 
her. Mr. Ridgely’s face was pale, his eyes moist with 
unbidden tears. 

Her aunt and Sylvia were regarding her wiFh vexed 
solicitude, her uncle with an amused smile. 

“ I promise you,” she replied, gravely; “promise 
for now and always.” 

“ Thank God for this victory,” he whispered, hum- 
bly, and, pressing her hand in a farewell, he bowed 
slightly to his sister and the others, and left the house. 

One of Hesba Levering’s chief accomplishments was 
the ability to make excellent home-made wine, and 
there was scarcely a fruit which she had not put to 
the test some time or other as to its capabilities of 
being converted into her famed cordials. Not that she 
cared for it herself; in fact, she seldom tasted it; but 
there were few persons for miles around who had not 
received a bottle of it, providing they were sick or ail- 
ing. Even persons in the city had sent for her black- 
berry cordial, which was considered a valuable tonic. 


160 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Caroline, therefore, had no scruples in regard to wine, 
for she had been accustomed to it all her life; yet her 
sympathies were altogether, though silently, with Mr. 
Ridgely in his contest with his sister. She cared 
nothing for wine herself, so it was no hardship to prom- 
ise, therefore she promised. 

The years of Caroline’s visit passed on, and Mr. 
Ridgely did his share toward educating her. He lent 
her books ; he took her and her cousin Sylvia out in 
his carriage very frequently ; all the objects of interest 
in and around the city were visited, and lessons learned 
from all; he interested himself in her music and draw- 
ing, and in all her studies encouraged and assisted. 

One would almost wonder that a handsome, popular, 
and wealthy young man would waste his time enter- 
taining and instructing a school-girl, when the loveliest 
and most accomplished young ladies of St. Louis would 
have felt flattered with attention from him. But the 
truth was Caroline did not appear to look upon him 
even at seventeen in the light of a lover. To her he 
was Sylvia’s uncle. She was perfectly at her ease with 
him, and showed her pleasure at his coming without 
any attempt at disguise. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


161 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SILVER-LINED CLOUD. 

11 How excellent is woman when she gives 
To the fine pulses of her spirit way ! 

Her virtues blossom daily, and pour out 
A fragrance upon all who in her path 
Have a blest fellov^ship.” 

Mr. Mark Bryor had for some time been the 
owner of the farm which had once belonged to the 
Bowlslys, and had never left it except for a day’s visit 
to the city, and that but seldom. Taking one of his 
colored boys to open gates, he drove over to Dorton 
post-office every day, returning as soon as he received his 
mail. He was a regular attendant upon the services of 
an Episcopal chapel attached to Dorton Academy, went 
to Levering’s mill when business called him there, occa- 
sionally attended a sale of stock, went every year to the 
county fair and election, and yet no person in the neigh- 
borhood could say they were really acquainted with him. 
Even Clem Pierson, cheerful and talkative as he was, 
could make nothing of him, and was kept to farm 
topics alone, when in conversation with Mr. Bryor. 
For the first time in his life he found a man who did 
not laugh at his first witty sally, so Clem never tried 
a second in the presence of his dignified employer. 

Mr. Mark Bryor had one peculiarity among many 


162 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


others which brought grief to the tender heart of Tim- 
othy. He allowed nothing to trespass on his place, 
barking dogs being his especial abomination. Grace 
Darling would trespass, and she would bark just as 
much as pleased her merry little heart. She appeared 
to have a partiality for Mr. Bryor’s domains, and 
everything seemed to encourage that preference. If 
she started a rabbit in Mrs. Carleton’s woods it was 
sure to run into those of Mr. Bryor, only separated 
by a fence, and Grace Darling after it. 

When Timothy set snares and box-traps and went in 
the early dawn to examine them, Grace Darling ran on 
ahead, and had a good time barking in Mr. Bryor’s 
woods while waiting for Timothy, which Mr. Bryor 
was sure to hear, for he appeared ubiquitous; and the 
village boys, who appreciated choice fruit and melons, 
affirmed that he prowled around all night. 

One morning Timothy arose betimes to visit his 
snares. A light snow had fallen, — the very kind of 
weather for rabbits to be abroad. He had thought 
of slipping off without Grace Darling; not that he 
dreaded Mr. Bryor, for he knew nothing of his dislike 
to dogs, but because she had followed him to the vil- 
lage twice the afternoon before and also to the mill in 
the evening, and Timothy knew she must be weary. 
He descended quietly into the kitchen, warm and light 
from the coal fire smouldering in the large stove, and 
quiet, for none of the family were yet astir. Grace 
Darling, curled up on a pillow, appeared to take no 
notice of Timothy, not even stirring to let him know 
she was aware of his presence; but the moment he 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


163 


reached for his cap she was alert, and when the outer 
door was opened she shot out like an arrow, barking 
at the pitch of her sharp, clear voice. 

Timothy ran briskly over the crisp surface and 
reached a gentle knoll, from whence he could have a 
view of Mrs. Carleton’s, Mr. Bryor’s, u Ogilvie’s 
Pride,” and, in fact, most of the farm-houses around, 
and even the village of Dorton. Refreshed by sleep, 
light-hearted and happy, he stopped to take breath and 
to look around him. Everything looked so beautiful 
under its pure mantle of snow. He could from his 
elevated position see Mr. Wheeler, Archibald Lever- 
ing’s miller, emerge from his cottage, lantern in hand, 
descend the path to the mill, unlock the door, and enter. 
Timothy knew but a few moments would elapse until 
the water would be turned on, and the huge wheel 
would start on its unhasting yet unresting daily round. 
He waited to hear it. 

He saw the first puff of smoke issue from the chim- 
neys of “ Ogilvie’s Pride,” and his eyes were keen 
enough to discern the well-fed, indolent servants lazily 
opening the shutters, and the gay, plaid-turbaned head 
of Aunt Chloe, as she went from the kitchen of the 
mansion to the cooking-shed and smoke-house. The 
bark of a distant watch-dog sounded clearly and dis- 
tinctly in the morning air; the east was beginning to 
redden, tinging with rose each frosted tree and shrub. 
Timothy loved the country, and in its present aspect 
he thought nothing could be lovelier. 

The deep thunder of the mill aroused him to a sense 
of passing time, and, whistling to Grace Darling, he 


164 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


ran on, and soon reached the snare. It was bent almost 
to the ground with a fine fat rabbit, around which the 
dog was capering in an ecstasy of joy. The boy’s face 
flushed with delight ; he viewed it all around, then con- 
cluded to let it remain until his return from his traps. 
Grace Darling, as usual, ran on before, and for a moment 
he lost sight of her, when the sharp crack of a rifle, fol- 
lowed by a yelp of mortal pain, caused his tender heart to 
bound. Almost paralyzed with dread, he followed the 
sound. There lay Grace Darling, blood flowing from 
her mouth, and quivering in the agony of death. 

The boy’s grief was too deep for tears. He took the 
suffering creature to his breast, and laid his pale cheek 
against her glossy head. She tried to caress his hand, 
but her strength was gone, and with the last quiver of 
her dainty limbs Timothy fell senseless on the snow. 
When he revived, he found himself on the lounge in 
Mrs. Carleton’s sitting-room; and through the half- 
opened door he heard her voice, suppressed, but trem- 
bling with passion. “ He is a poor orphan, sir ; the 
dog saved his life and the lives of many others ; no 
wonder he loved it. It was an unmanly, wicked thing 
in you to kill it.” 

No reply. 

“ With the means and education you have, you might 
be of some use in the world, instead of a blight and 
a terror; no wonder everybody hates you and shuns 
you.” 

No reply. x 

“Leave this house, sir, instantly ! and never let me 
see you on my premises again.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 165 

No reply. The shutting of the door and departing 
footsteps were sufficient answer. 

Mrs. Carleton’s sons set out for the academy alone 
that morning, for Timothy, who had for some time been 
promoted from Cousin Melie’s class to the district school 
in Dorton, was not able to accompany them. His tears 
flowed silently during the greater part of the forenoon, as 
he lay nearly motionless on the lounge ; and Mrs. Carle- 
ton, passing in and out on her household errands, felt 
deep sympathy for the sorrowing boy, mingled with 
indignation against the unprovoked cruelty of her 
neighbor, Mark Bryor. 

She had just arrayed herself in her neat afternoon 
attire, and sat down, sewing in hand, in her rocking- 
chair before the open fire of the sitting-room, the crack- 
ling, singing, and simmering of which had lulled both 
Timothy and Grandfather Carleton to sleep, when the 
sound of sleigh-bells stopping at the gate caused her 
to lay thimble and sewing aside and go to the window, 
from whence she saw three ladies. One glance sufficed 
to make known to her that it was General Porter’s 
elegant sleigh and noble black horses ; and by the time 
Uncle Pomp, the coachman, had arrived at the hall- 
door, Mrs. Carleton guessed the whole story as well as 
he could tell it. Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Hoyt had 
come to spend the afternoon and take a sociable cup of 
tea with her, if it entirely suited, and on their way had 
called for Cousin Melie and asked her to come along, 
and Cousin Melie never required persuasion. It suited 
Mrs. Carleton exactly, as, to do her justice, it generally 
did ; and by the time they were ushered in, Fanny, at 
15 


166 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


the bidding of Mrs. Carleton, had drawn all the rock- 
ing-chairs from the fireless parlor into the glowing 
sitting-room. 

“I shall not punish you for not letting me know 
you were coming,” said Mrs. Carleton, pleasantly, “ by 
making you sit in a half-warmed room. Fanny could 
soon put a fire in the parlor, and it would seem warm 
there, but the walls would be cold, for there has been 
no fire there for some time, and grandfather might take 
cold. Perhaps next time you will send me word, so 
I can have it thoroughly heated,” she added, with a 
smile. 

“Indeed, we shall not,” said Mrs. Porter, in the 
same tone; “this room is too delightful for anything; 
that glowing fire, and those violets in bloom in that 
sunny window, cannot be excelled. There, now,” she 
continued, glancing out the window, “ I intended to 
tell Uncle Pomp what time to come for us, and he is 
gone.” 

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Carleton, “ he will come 
early enough ; it will be moonlight.” 

Grandfather Carleton, aroused from his nap, was de- 
lighted with the chatter going on around him, and sat 
smiling serenely, glancing from one speaker to the 
other with pleased attention. 

“ But what have we here, — a sick boy ?” said Cousin 
Melie, lowering her voice and moving toward the 
lounge. “ Why, it’s my little friend, Timothy.” 

“ Not sick,” replied Mrs. Carleton, “ but in trouble. 
I will tell you all about it after a while.” 

The ladies settled around the hearth, and fancy-work 


AND HIS FRIENDS . 


167 


was the order of the day. Timothy almost forgot his 
troubles in listening to the running fire of their chat- 
ter. They reminded him of a flock of birds. Cousin 
Melie expected to go to the city the following day, and 
the subject of shopping was discussed in all its bear- 
ings. 

“ I hope none of you people need anything about 
this time,” said she, laughingly; “for, as usual, my 
memorandum has more on it for other folks than for 
myself. People think that old maids have more time 
on their hands than they know what to do with.” 

“Do you like to purchase for others?” questioned 
Mrs. Hoyt, a shadow born of some unpleasant memory 
flitting over her bright face. 

“ Oh, yes, when I succeed in pleasing them, and I 
have been pretty fortunate in that respect so far.” 

“Well, I cannot say that I have,” said Mrs. Hoyt; 
“indeed, I have been almost tempted for my own 
peace of mind to go quietly off and let no one outside 
of my own family know when I purpose visiting the 
city. I almost feel that duty to myself renders such a 
course excusable ; and that you may not consider me 
too disobliging and selfish, I will give you some of my 
experience in that line. 

“The very last time I went my visit was limited to 
three days, and I had enough commissions from my 
friends to fill up the whole time, to the exclusion of 
my own. It rained one whole day, and for my own 
purchases I should have never thought of going out, 
but I knew they would be disappointed if I went 
home without them, and perhaps think I did not try ; 


168 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


for some persons are under the impression that all you 
have to do in the city is to step out and get exactly 
what you wish without any trouble. 

“ Old Mrs. Peters sent by me for a cap. She had 
always made them herself after some sort of fashion, 
and I knew a cap brought from the city would be an 
era in her toil-weary life, so I really expended more 
walking on the cap than I should have done upon a 
whole outfit for myself. My trouble was to get one 
plain enough to suit her, and amid all the splendors 
of dress caps, breakfast-caps, and lace caps of every 
description, it was a difficult matter. 

“ After a while I came across one, which among its 
stylish contemporaries was almost severe in its sim- 
plicity. I rejoiced that I had at last overtaken the 
object of my search, so I bought it and sent it to her 
as soon as I reached home that evening, and before I 
could repose my weary frame on my couch that night 
back came the cap, the bill, and a message that she 
could not think of wearing such a flyaway thing as 
that at her time of life, and asking me to take it off 
her hands. 

“ As I did not number caps among my accoutre- 
ments, I felt very much like the man who had the 
present of an elephant ; but I made the best of it, and 
sold it to another old lady for a few cents less than I 
gave.” 

“ That reminds me of my last purchase for a friend,” 
said Mrs. Porter, smiling; “but, contrary to your 
experience, I wished to take it off her hands, but she 
would not gratify me. An intimate friend of mine — 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


169 


our hostess, ladies — commissioned me the last time I 
went into town to purchase for her some real Valen- 
ciennes lace. I was particularly anxious to suit her, 
for I know she is a connoisseur in laces, and know also 
that she has a good opinion of my judgment.” 

“ Who told you so ?” inquired Mrs. Carleton, laugh- 
ingly. 

“ A little bird told me ; but, to proceed. She had 
admired a piece of my lace and wished me to get a 
piece as near like it as possible without going to too 
much trouble. I had much on hand that day, a visit 
to my dentist’s among the rest, and the day was nearly 
spent before I entered a large store, where an endless 
variety of choice laces were shown me. A bright gas- 
light shone directly upon them, and even to an experi- 
enced eye, the piece I selected was of handsome pattern 
and of superior quality. 

“The evening of my return, dear Mrs. Carleton 
here, called for her lace. She was charmed with it, for 
it was even a prettier pattern than mine. Together we 
inspected it and commented on its fineness and beauty. 
Alas ! when viewed by daylight it was only an imita- 
tion instead of the real Valenciennes. And she would 
not gratify me by letting me have it,” she concluded, 
plaintively. 

“ It answered every purpose,” replied Mrs. Carleton. 
“You had given a Valenciennes price for it, so that 
satisfied me; and when going among judges like your- 
self,” she added, quizzingly, “ I only wore it by lamp- 
light, and that satisfied you, so there was no harm 
done.” 


15 * 


170 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“Well, now, I think I can equal either of these ex- 
periences, ” said Cousin Melie. “ Last spring I under- 
took to match a piece of fringe for a wedding-dress 
for Prudence Pierson. You all know her, so it is not 
necessary to make explanations. She had bought dress 
and trimmings at one of the best stores, — Easter’s, — 
and I will do her the justice to believe that she thought 
all I had to do was to go directly there and get it. Of 
course it was all gone, and I tried in large stores and 
small stores, and every place where I thought it pos- 
sible that particular shade of fringe might hide, but 
could not match the sample. Finally, in an unlucky 
hour for me, I was advised to go to the fringe-factory 
and have it woven to order. I knew Prudence was 
particularly anxious to have it by a certain time, so I 
walked all the way there and ordered it, giving them 
particular directions to send it to my stopping-place by 
one o’clock next day, as I was to leave the city in the 
only afternoon train, which left at two for Aberdeen, 
where I was visiting. It was promised without fail ; 
and in the mean time, having it off my mind, I set 
about my own business, and when finished returned to 
my stopping-place too tired out to sleep when the 
time came for repose. 

“ The next day I looked for the fringe, as promised, 
but at one o’clock it had not come, neither was there 
any sign of its coming; and I waited with my wrap- 
pings on in a perfect fever of impatience until twenty 
minutes after the time, when I decided to have the fringe 
expressed to Prudence as soon as it arrived. Giving 
my friends the necessary directions, I had reached the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


171 


street door, when whom should I see meandering round 
the corner but the boy with the fringe. He was accom- 
panied by a boon companion, and they were treating 
themselves to a game of ball with the bundle of fringe, 
tossing it backward and forward until they reached the 
door where I was standing, in a frame of mind not to 
be coveted, and which would be a stretch of complai- 
sance to style serene. I am sorry to have it to record 
that I snatched the fringe from that boy with more 
celerity than ceremony, and gave him the change which 
I had been shifting from one hand to the other for the 
last half-hour, then made a rush for the depot, only to 
turn about and empty the contents of my satchel to 
find a pencil with which to sign his delivery card, which 
he leisurely exhumed from the depths of a pocket which 
I verily thought must reach to the toe of his boot. 
When I did finally reach the depot the cars were just 
steaming out of sight, and I had to return and stay over 
Sunday, much to my inconvenience, and I greatly feared 
to that of my kind entertainers.” 

“ Did the fringe suit ?” asked Mrs. Hoyt, naively. 

“ I never inquired, fearing it did not,” replied Cousin 
Melie, joining in the laugh which followed the ques- 
tion. 

“ Grandfather has a mite to add to these reminis- 
cences, I know by his smile,” said Mrs. Carleton. 

“ Your experiences, ladies, remind me of one I was 
favored with in my early ministerial life,” replied 
Grandfather Carleton, with a smile. “ I was morbidly 
conscientious in regard to performing every duty which 
could be required of me ? but I must say that one re- 


172 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


mained unperformed — for lack of time. A gentleman 
wrote to me from a neighboring city informing me that 
a feeble-minded youth had wandered off from his home, 
and it was thought possible that he might have strayed 
to the city where I then resided. I was asked to kindly 
interest myself in his return by going to all the station- 
houses and make inquiry according to the description 
given. If not there I could then go to the House of 
Correction, Refuge, the hospitals, and the homes for 
children, and report success to the writer. In the post- 
script I was reminded that no doubt I would be grati- 
fied by this trust reposed in me, as it would give me an 
opportunity of visiting these institutions, and perhaps 
do good. It is scarcely necessary to state that no stamp 
for reply was enclosed.” 

“Grandfather’s experience caps the climax,” cried 
Cousin Melie, with tears of mirth in her eyes. “ We 
will have to hide our diminished heads and wait for 
better opportunities.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Hoyt, “it is both common and 
proper to end with a moral ; what is the moral to all 
we have been saying ?” 

“ Why, it is very plain to be seen, I am sure,” said 
Mrs. Carleton. “ Here it is, — when we tax our friends 
and acquaintances to purchase anything for us, let us 
compensate them by trying to be satisfied with their 
efforts to please.” 

That evening, after the company had gone, the boys 
in the sitting-room, getting their lessons for next day, 
and Grandfather Carleton in bed, Mrs. Carleton and 
Timothy sat by the stove in the kitchen. Mrs. Carleton 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 173 

was seeding raisins for fruit-cake, and Timothy, lonely 
and sad, crept out and took a seat beside her. 

“ If I could only get my poor dog and bury her,” he 
said, sorrowfully, “I would not feel so badly ; but I am 
afraid to go ; I am afraid I might meet Mr. Bryor.” 

“ I saw him pass in his sleigh just as Pomp turned 
in the lane this evening; suppose you go while he is 
away. It is moonlight, and the snow will enable you 
to find her.” 

Comforted, Timothy took his cap and went. He 
followed his and Grace Darling’s tracks in the snow 
until he came to where she met her death, but the body 
was not there. With tears flowing, he turned to retrace 
his steps, when Mr. Bryor stepped from behind an oak- 
tree and confronted the terrified boy. 

“ Do not shrink from me,” he said, almost implor- 
ingly. “I am sorry I killed your dog. If money 
could restore her it should be freely given. I crave 
your forgiveness. The deed is done, never to be undone, 
but I will try to make amends. I am a lonely man ; 
have no relatives except a brother, from whom I am 
estranged. I want something to occupy my long even- 
ings. I am tired of being alone. If you wish an 
education, I am capable and willing to give it to you.” 

Timothy was too bewildered to reply; he turned 
abruptly away. 

“Boy!” said Mr. Bryor, placing a detaining hand 
upon his shoulder; “say you forgive me, — and accept 
my offer.” 

“Overcome evil with good,” — Granny’s favorite 
motto came into the boy’s mind. He thought of her 


174 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


as he had last seen her, — helpless and homeless, but 
patient and resigned in her bed in the hospital; he 
reached out his hand to Mr. Bryor. 

“ I will ask Mrs. Carleton, and do as she says,” he 
said, humbly. 

After that night, all leisure times and every evening 
found the boy alone with Mr. Bryor, whom he had 
learned to esteem, to revere, to love. Mr. Bryor gave 
to him the results of his rich experience, the benefit of 
his cultured mind. Together they roamed the wooded 
hills in search of plants and minerals; together contem- 
plated the starry heavens, and Mrs. Carleton, noble and 
unselfish, looked on well pleased. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

“ogilvie’s pride.” 

“ Let those who on these pages look 
This chapter read with care ; 

For, though a plain and simple hook, 

A mystery lies here.” 

It was the anniversary of the birthday of Madame 
Angela, and the little girls of the neighborhood of 
Dorton were having a merry time in the charming 
flower-garden and hip-roofed cottage which belonged 
to “ Ogilvie’s Pride.” This cottage had formerly been 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


175 


occupied by the overseer, but at the time specified was 
the pleasant home of two persons known by the people 
of the neighborhood as Aunt Ursula and her niece, 
Madame Angela. 

All afternoon the little ones had gambolled over the 
grassy paths and woven garlands in the shady summer- 
house, fragrant with honeysuckle and w r oodbine. A 
savory odor of some foreign cookery crept from the 
vine-covered door of the kitchen, and was joyously 
commented upon by the little ones as a forerunner of 
coming delicacies, and at the same moment one of the 
flower-crowned sylphs ran from the cottage, crying 
gleefully, “ Oh, girls ! Madame Angela says we may 
arrange the dishes on the table for tea ; and we are to 
take tea in the berceau, where she and Aunt Ursula 
have theirs every fine evening, and we are to have out 
the beautiful French tea-things and the dear little silver 
tea- and coffee-pots; and, if Aunt Ursula is willing, 
w T e are to carry out her writing-table to eat off of, for 
the one already there is too small for so many. Let 
us go and ask her.” Catching the enthusiasm, they all 
made a rush for the berceau , or summer-house, to proffer 
their request. 

At first sight one would almost wonder that they 
could be so familiar with the occupant of the summer- 
house as to ask a favor of any kind, so stately and 
commanding the presence, so reserved and even haughty 
the demeanor, so foreign and outre the whole appear- 
ance; but over all was the fine gild of culture and re- 
finement, of gentle manners and thorough kindness, 
which proved their childish instinct was not at fault. 


176 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Aunt Ursula was seated in an arm-chair, her rather 
large but white and beautifully moulded hands lying 
idly on her lap, her gaze fixed absently on the gables 
and peaks of “ Ogilvie’s Pride,” glistening in the beams 
of the setting sun, seemingly oblivious of all the rural 
beauty which surrounded her. Her thoughts appeared 
far distant from the drowsy hum of innumerable bees 
in the clover near by, the soft, affectionate lowing of 
the milk-white cow on the other side of the enclosure, 
and the vesper-song of the birds in the snowballs and 
lilac bushes which laid their white and purple blooms 
against the end of the cottage. 

When the patter of youthful feet and sound of glad 
voices reached her, the brow relaxed, the wandering 
thoughts were recalled, and one of her rare smiles 
illumined the noble countenance, and the “ Oui ! mon 
enfants , all that the house and garden contain is at 
your service to-day,” was just the answer they appeared 
to expect. They set to work with eager hands to re- 
move the books and writing materials from the larger 
table preparatory to placing it in the summer-house. 

“ Dear Aunt Ursula, you won’t mind if we set your 
chair out, will you? Then you can read, if you wish, 
and we will not be in your way,” said Mary Wil- 
loughby, the fairest of the flock. 

“ I will not be in yours, you mean, you cunning 
elves. How much reading do you suppose I could do 
while you were all chattering like magpies? No, but 
I will set my chair and myself under this willow, and 
give you some music.” 

“Ah, that will be splendid! and you will excuse us 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 177 

if we talk sometimes while you are playing, will you 
not ?” inquired another chirping voice. 

“ I will excuse everything to-day, my pets,” replied 
Aunt Ursula, as she drew the bow across the strings 
of a mellow-toned violin with an emphasis which pro- 
claimed her no stranger to its mysteries. 

To one unacquainted with her it would appear sin- 
gular that she should prefer the violin to any other 
instrument, yet it seemed almost to possess articulation 
under the influence of her master-hand. To the chil- 
dren it was the most natural thing in the world, their 
greatest pleasure, their most cherished reward. 

The music, like herself, was foreign to the core. No 
airs that were familiar to her listeners, save as they had 
learned to love them as they flowed from her instru- 
ment, but wild, martial music, now in thrilling tones 
proclaiming heroic deeds on distant battle-fields, now 
in silvery cadences breathing the memory of those deeds 
in some fair lady’s bower. 

The solitaire diamond ring upon her right hand 
blazed and sparkled in the flickering light that shim- 
mered through the foliage; the flowers seemed drink- 
ing in the melody as they nodded upon their slender 
stems ; and Madame Angela coming for a moment to 
the door of the cottage, rewarded the musician with an 
appreciative and meaning smile. 

A casual observer might have been excused for 
wishing Aunt Ursula’s costume less quaint and weird, 
more modern in design and finish, and yet, if requested 
to suggest anything better adapted to her style and 
appearance, would probably have acknowledged liim- 
10 


178 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


selfVpuzzled and at fault. It seemed, unique as it 
certainly was, better suited to her than any other femi- 
nine habiliments in vogue at that day ; suited the quiet 
dignity of her movements, the pure olive tint of her 
complexion, the brilliant blackness of her magnifi- 
cent eyes, the silver threads in her night-black hair. 
One might also have wished for a tint of rose in the 
colorless cheek, a less grave expression about the pen- 
sive mouth, a little unbending of the proud carriage; 
but, take her as she was, hers was a face, once seen, not 
likely to be forgotten, — a face where intellect so pre- 
dominated over mere physical beauty that one instinc- 
tively felt that any change would not be for the better. 
But it was when she spoke that the subtle and intan- 
gible power which her presence exercised over others 
was most deeply felt. Her low and full-toned voice 
haunted one like the refrain of some half-forgotten 
melody that was sweet and mournful, yet vague and 
undefined. 

Her glossy and abundant black hair was combed low 
on the temples and put plainly back of the ears, where 
it was lost in the gloom of a black silk mob-cap, so 
colossal in its proportions, that, not content with ob- 
scuring the whole back of the head, it encroached upon 
the face, and, after wandering aimlessly, as it appeared, 
over cheek and chin, descended low upon the throat, 
where it was finally enveloped in the folds of a white 
silk shawl of beauty and price, which was crossed upon 
the ample breast. Over this cap was worn a white 
one of delicate gossamer fabric known as leise, of which 
$ie silk one formed the lining. Her gown of heavy 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


179 


black silk, guiltless of flounce or fold, was ample in 
fulness and rich in quality, and fashioned simply as 
the robe of a nun, while over it was worn a white 
linen apron, which left nothing to be desired as to 
length and breadth, and with the newly-ironed creases 
making a checker-board of its polished surface. 

She seemed absorbed in her music until Madame An- 
gela appeared with smiling face to add the finishing 
touches to the neatly-spread board, when she carefully 
and tenderly replaced her violin in its case, and as the 
flutter consequent upon selecting seats subsided among 
the childish guests she arose, and, extending her hands 
over the table in her French fashion, in low and rev- 
erent tones asked a blessing. 

Although an epicure might have been dissatisfied 
with the simplicity of the meal, to the congenial spirits 
around the board it was in every sense complete. The 
children were completely charmed with the French 
comestibles, so simple in their elements, so elaborate in 
their construction, upon which Madame Angela, with 
inherent art of pleasing children, had exercised her 
most cunning skill. Besides these foreign dishes, the 
delicate rolls, fragrant coflee, butter with the faint 
aroma of clover lingering in its creamy richness, honey, 
and delicious strawberries formed a happy combination 
of the delicate and substantial, while th$ running brook 
back of the summer-house kept up its tinkling sym- 
phony as an accompaniment to the mirth and good 
cheer. 

No tie save that of friendship bound these children 
to their entertainers or to one another ; but Madame 


180 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Angela, who was fond of the society of children, had 
for years made it a pleasure to invite the little people 
of the neighborhood to her birthday supper, an invita- 
tion which was never declined. 

When the cheerful repast was over, and the evening 
shadows warned them that it was time to depart, they 
clustered around Aunt Ursula, who lovingly bade them 
adieu ; but it was upon Madame Angela, who accom- 
panied them to the gate, they lavished kisses and 
caresses, which they never thought of bestowing upon 
Aunt Ursula, dearly as they loved her ; and she sent 
the little creatures on their homeward way, their 
pockets well filled with bonbons and other confections 
of her own making. 

After their departure, while Madame Angela cleared 
away the remains of the feast, Aunt Ursula, with her 
innate love of out-door life and distaste for confining 
employment, took her accustomed evening walk, prun- 
ing-knife in hand, among her roses and vines ; for the 
culture of fruit and flowers was her recreation and de- 
light, and her garden was the admiration and pride of 
the neighborhood. No bride for miles around consid- 
ered her toilet complete without a bouquet of orange- 
flowers and lily of the valley from Aunt Ursula’s 
bounty; no pale occupant of the narrow house was 
borne to the grave without a floral accompaniment 
from the same kind hand. 

When all was completed they lingered in the sum- 
mer-house, as was their wont, enjoying the calm beauty 
of the sweet summer night. Although faint hues of 
rose and amber tinted the western sky, mellow moon- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


181 


light flooded the earth, marbling the dim cottage into 
a fairy palace, silvering tree and shrub, and glorifying 
the faces of the occupants of the berceau. 

“ Years ago,” remarked Aunt Ursula, breaking the 
silence born of the solemn beauty of the scene, “ I 
thought not, in my blind despair at the turn our affairs 
had taken, that the time would ever come when I could 
truly say I was content with all that life seemed to 
offer ; but at last I cease to long for the stir and activ- 
ity of the world, every day am more thankful for the 
repose of this little retreat, and content, if my Master 
so wills it, to never leave it more.” 

“And why should we not be content?” replied 
Madame Angela. * Life is short, the end will soon 
come. What matters it, after all, where it is spent, 
if we are fulfilling our Master’s will ? If it was our 
destiny to be removed from the pleasures of the world, 
we are also removed from its temptations and dangers. 
Then, again, all is changed since we left our sunny 
clime. The friends of our youth would not be there to 
welcome us, should we return. We would be strangers 
to all we used to love. Other hopes and interests have 
filled the places we once occupied. Life has flowed on 
and left us stranded, and the dear friends here who 
trust and love us are evidence that happiness can be 
found anywhere if we rightly seek it.” 

“ Always my comforter, my patient Angela. When 
in times past I witnessed your sweet submission, your 
cheerfulness under trials, your unwearied endeavors to 
perform menial duties from which your whole previous 
life had been exempt, — when I saw you, who formed so 
16 * 


182 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


bright an ornament to the circles you were by birth and 
education so fitted to adorn, apparently happy in this 
isolation, which to me was more dreary than a cloister, 
— God forgive me ! — instead of being lost in wonder 
and admiration, I inwardly censured the want of pride 
that allowed you to submit so humbly.” 

“ But you were patient also ; you were silent under 
the dispensation; you never rebelled.” 

“ Ah ! not in words, my Angela ; but when I look 
back on the years which have passed, I cannot but 
wonder at the forbearance and long-suffering of my 
Maker, — His endurance of my fretful murmurings, my 
bitter and childish repinings, my wicked and sullen 
rebellion ; I wonder at His tenderness in bearing with 
my sinful pride, and His mercy in at last crowning me 
with peace and submission.” 

u Submission, then peace,” corrected Madame An- 
gela, reverently ; “ there can be no peace without sub- 
mission.” 

“ True, my Angela. As though He who placed me 
in the high position I was so proud of filling had not 
the right to remove me in His own good time and man- 
ner, I refused to acknowledge the many mercies which 
crowned my daily life, and thronged my daily path. 
My pure conscience, my untarnished reputation, my 
security from the certain death which had threatened 
me, my perfect health, your sweet companionship, 
weighed as nothing against the wealth and position 
which had been mine, but was mine no longer. In my 
bitter humiliation I never imagined that when the ne- 
cessities which enforced this seclusion had passed into 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


183 


oblivion they would take with them all desire to mingle 
again with the world.” 

“Yes, His dealings with us have been those of a 
loving father. He has allowed us to want for no need- 
ful thing; and, best of all, He has left us each other.” 

“ And how speeds the gallant colonel’s wooing ?” said 
Aunt Ursula, archly, breaking the long silence into 
which they had fallen. “ Becoming as he deems your 
widow’s cap, metliinks he is more than anxious to have 
you change it for the orange wreath and bridal veil.” 

A bright blush overspread the sweet face of Madame 
Angela, as she replied, laughingly, “Ah, I fear our 
nation is not singular in its fickleness ; I saw him press 
your hand most fervently, here in the berceau , the other 
evening ; neither of you knew I was peeping through 
the closed shutters. I fear his allegiance to me is 
rather rickety.” 

“ All for your sake, Angela,” said Aunt Ursula, 
smiling. “ He was asking me to intercede for him ; as 
though I would be likely, if I could, to give up all that 
makes life endurable to one even so worthy as Colonel 
Willoughby.” 

“ But he does not wish you to give me up ; he said 
that nothing would be a greater honor and pleasure 
than to have you make his house your home. You 
should have your own apartments and servants, and be 
in all respects as retired as you wish, while he would 
esteem you as a dearly loved mother. Now, what more 
could you ask ?” added Madame Angela, quizzingly. 

“Noble fellow; he is worthy of some good woman’s 
love, and 1 hope it will be granted to him.” 


184 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

“And then,” resumed Madame Angela, “when I 
drew back mortified and chagrined at his proposal, he 
appeared mystified and hurt at what he supposed my 
haughty rejection of his offer.” 

“Ah, that is what I feared,” said Aunt Ursula, 
quickly ; “ and yet you did the best you could ; you did 
all that any one could who was so peculiarly situated, to 
discourage his attentions ; it was not your fault that he 
persevered.” 

“ Does not Mary Willoughby remind you of some 
one you have seen long ago?” said Madame Angela. 
“ The impression has been deepening ever since I have 
known the child, and to-night, when she threw her 
arms around my neck and embraced me, she reminded 
me so forcibly of some dear one, and yet I cannot think 
who it is.” 

“ Is it not Christine ?” inquired Aunt Ursula, softly. 

“Ah, yes! Why did I not think of that before? 
Now I know why it was I felt from the first so drawn 
to little Mary. Oh, Christine ! dear, dear little Chris- 
tine !” 

“And if I were called hence before you,” resumed 
Aunt Ursula, as if anxious to direct the conversation 
from the sad channel whither it was drifting, “ to no 
one on earth could I leave you with more sincere hap- 
piness than to Colonel Willoughby.” 

“ Providing I were willing.” 

“Yes, providing you were willing.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


185 


CHAPTER XV. 

CHRISTINE. 

“ Dost wonder yet that nothing strange 
Hath caught thy watchful eye? 

Fruition, may that feeling change 
To tender sympathy.” 

Many years before the birthday festival of Madame 
Angela the good ship u Miriam” made her first voyage 
across the blue Atlantic. Launched from an English 
port, her destination was the United States. She had 
set sail under the most favorable auspices. Wind and 
weather had lent their aid to bear her swiftly along, 
and, until within a few days' voyage of Baltimore, she 
had made a comparatively speedy run. 

But now, for days she had remained almost station- 
ary, as though spell-bound. The stiff breezes which 
had borne her so cheerily along seemed to have con- 
sidered their mission accomplished, and refused to carry 
out their contract. From dawn until evening captain, 
crew, and passengers prophesied and speculated upon 
the likelihood of a change of weather, but the sky re- 
mained an unclouded arch of blue ; no welcome haze 
hid the moon, but night after night she smiled down in 
solemn splendor upon them. Nothing gave symbol or 
promise of the motive-power for which all so ardently 
longed. 


186 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


The bleak monotony of a lengthened stay on ship- 
board, as a voyage across the Atlantic inevitably was 
in those sailing-vessels, merged into ennui and dreary 
wretchedness as the days crept on, and the king of day 
rose calmly and smilingly from his watery bed, and ran 
his unclouded journey westward, helpless to assist. 

On the vessel was a little girl apparently between 
three and four years of age, who from the beginning of 
the voyage was an object of attention and sympathy 
from every one on board, owing to her sweet and win- 
ning manner, her helpless and unprotected situation, 
and the peculiar circumstances under which she had 
sailed. Her mother, as they gathered from her artless 
prattle, was companion for an infirm old lady in Liver- 
pool, and this was her only child. The little girl was 
much petted, not only by the mother and her aged em- 
ployer, but visitors to the house noticed and caressed 
her, being charmed with the beauty and intelligence of 
the child. On the day the “ Miriam” sailed, she, with 
two of her playmates, was attracted by a band of music, 
which in marching down the street passed their play- 
ground, and following it, they soon reached the wharf 
where, mingling with they crowd, they were carried on 
board. There she was amused by the novel and ex- 
citing scenes of a departure, and getting separated from 
her companions, who having seen others leave the boat 
followed them, she crept behind a cabin-door which was 
ajar, and in a little while, “rocked in the cradle of the 
deep,” was lost in happy slumber. 

Presently the door opened, and two tall ladies, clad in 
deep mourning and with thick black veils concealing 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


187 


their features, entered the room, and upon turning to 
close the door they noticed the child. Not wishing to 
disturb her sweet repose, the younger and fairer of the 
two raised her gently from the carpet, and, tenderly 
pressing a kiss upon the flushed cheek, laid her in 
one of the berths, and seating herself by the window, 
while her companion removed her wrappings and lay 
down to rest, she watched the receding shore with eyes 
fast dimming with home-sick tears, which she care- 
fully concealed from the sight of the occupant of the 
berth. 

She made a sweet and pleasing picture as she sat 
there ; her head, from which she had removed bonnet 
and veil, gently reclining against the casement of the 
cabin window, the soft sea breeze fanning her fair patri- 
cian brow. She was tall and finely formed, possessing 
that indescribable air of serenity and dignified grace- 
fulness which proclaimed her as one born to wealth and 
position. Her eyes were large, and blue as summer 
noonday skies, and possessing a depth of character sel- 
dom seen in those of azure tint, varying with the emo- 
tions of her nature, deepening to almost black when 
unusually stirred ; golden wavy hair, seemingly impa- 
tient of the control of the jewelled comb which confined 
its soft luxuriance, and escaping in little tendrils, which 
caressed the rounded cheek glowing beneath them with 
the rosy tints of youth and health. The sweet expres- 
sive mouth, tremulous now with emotion, the delicately 
moulded chin, and slender throat were all models of 
refined feminine beauty; the whole appearance denoted 
one unused to rough contact with the world, one that 


488 


TIMOTHY : HIS NEIGHBORS 


was sheltered and protected from all that was distasteful 
and uncongenial. 

The sleeve of the simple black dress, which fitted 
her with the pliant grace that distinguished everything 
she wore, falling back from her slender wrist, disclosed 
a beautifully rounded arm, and soft and dimpled hand 
scarcely larger than that of a child. 

When her sleep was over the little waif opened her 
merry hazel eyes, rubbed her piquant nose with her 
plump fist, and a happy smile dimpled the rosebud 
mouth as, without raising her curly head from the pil- 
low, she chirped, “ Mamma, I are awake ; indeed I are.” 

The sound attracted the lady, and turning from the 
window with a smile that betrayed the warm, motherly 
nature, and carried its welcome with it, she bent over 
the couch and said softly in broken English, but per- 
fectly intelligible to the bright little listener, — 

4< Whose little girl are you, dear?” 

“ Mamma’s girl and aunty’s pet,” was the prompt 
reply. % 

“ What is mamma’s girl’s name ?” 

“ Crissy.” 

“ And what is Crissy’s other name?” 

“ Dot no more,” said the little one, solemnly, shaking 
her roguish head, and reaching for a stray curl which 
hung within reach of her hand. 

“ I love little girls like you ; will you not come and 
sit upon my lap and look out at the pretty water ?” 

The child obeyed instantly, and was soon entertaining 
her new friend with circumstantial accounts of her play- 
mates, — her white rabbit and her kitten. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


189 


Time passed on, and as the inquiry for her which the 
lady had been momentarily expecting was delayed, she 
set the child down, and passing to the side of the berth, 
said something in her own language to her companion. 

“ Yes, leave her with me,” was the reply in the same 
tongue. “ I will take care of her.” And giving the 
child some trinkets to amuse her, the lady resumed her 
mantle and veil and left the cabin. 

“ I have seen no one who knows anything of her,” 
said she, upon returning. “ The captain says that no 
child of that age was registered, and the passengers 
whom I met knew nothing of her. What shall we do 
with her?” 

“ Take me to mamma,” volunteered the little girl. 

“ I would, my love, gladly, if I knew where she was. 
Where is she ?” 

“Oh, mamma, mammal where is she?” cried the little 
one, imploringly. “ Take me to mamma !” 

Something in the child’s manner touched a chord in 
the lady’s breast which vibrated painfully, and taking 
the sorrowing little creature in her arms, she wept with- 
out restraint. “ She reminds me so much of Helena,” she 
sobbed, “ my cherub babe, who is safe in heaven, while 
some poor mother is grieving over the loss of this sweet 
child ; perhaps she was sent to comfort me.” 

“ But we have no home to offer her,” said the other, 
anxiously. “We are homeless ourselves ; will be stran- 
gers in a strange land.” 

“ I know it,” replied the lady, tearfully. “ I know 
it would be worse than folly to think of such a thing, 
but what will become of her ?” 

17 • 


190 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Happily, the mind of a young child is easily directed 
from sorrow, and being of a happy, joyous disposition 
she was comforted and amused, and although she shed 
many tears before daylight closed in, she slept peacefully 
all night in the arms of her new friend. 

When morning came, and she strove to rise, she was 
totally unable; sea-sickness, that wretched ailment, took 
possession and held her in its relentless grasp. For 
weeks she was unable to leave her cabin, and her new- 
found friends proved her faithful nurses. Every day 
they became more attached to her, and in that trying 
time received more insight of her sweet, unfretful dispo- 
sition than months of perfect health could have given 
them. At length when able to go on deck, though the 
sad experience had robbed the cheek of bloom and the 
eyes of their roguish light, and added years apparently 
to her age, she was an object of loving interest to all. 
From captain to cook, all vied with each other in antici- 
pating every wish. 

The fair-haired lady (for her companion never left 
the seclusion of her state-room from the beginning to 
the ending of the voyage) was her constant attendant. 
Seated upon deck, they enjoyed for hours each day the 
varied tints of sky and ocean, watching the sun go 
down in the sea and the moon and stars come forth. 
Notwithstanding the discomforts of a sea-voyage, she 
had many, many pleasures which overbalanced them. 
She skimmed over the vessel like a sea-bird over the 
water, — now dancing along at the side of the captain 
as he took his morning walk on deck, now in the cook’s 
room, surveying with the eye of a connoisseur the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


191 


culinary preparations going on there, everywhere wel- 
comed and guarded. Truly, no child with scores of 
doting relatives ever had a happier trip across the wide 
expanse than this little one, who had no claim on a 
human being there. 

“ Yes, we are becalmed, that is certain, and the One 
above only knows when we shall ever move on again. 
We may as well make the best of it; no use fretting, as 
I can see. I might as well spend this nice morning on 
deck, carving out toys for Lady-bird, as anywhere else, 
mightn’t I ?” And the big, cheerful, good-hearted cap- 
tain seated himself beside the fair-haired lady and took 
Crissy on his knee. “ What do you say to that, Lady- 
bird ?” 

The child answered by an affectionate smile, and one 
of the plump hands crept into his large palm and 
nestled there like a downy bird. 

“ What are you going to do with her, ma’am, when 
we land?” he said, in a low tone. “ Do you intend 
taking her with you ?” 

“ I only wish I could,” she replied, her beautiful 
eyes darkening and filling with tears ; “ but I can- 
not.” 

"Well, that makes it all right,” said the captain, 
brightening. “ I know an old gentleman and his wife 
who would give their two eyes — -four, I mean,” he cor- 
rected, “ for just such a mischievous nuisance as this,” 
pressing the child closer to him with his arm and giving 
her a quizzical look, which she understood perfectly and 
returned with interest. “ She could stay there until I 
go back to Liverpool, where I will try to find out if 


192 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


there is anybody to claim her, and if there is, she can 
go back with me the next trip.” 

“ Her mother, should she be living, will think the 
time long before she sees her,” replied the lady ; “ but 
I cannot see that anything better can be done, and you 
think your friends will be kind to her ?” she inquired, 
anxiously. 

“ Kind ! They won’t know how to thank me enough. 
They have none of their own and are rich, and the 
only squall I see ahead is to get her away from them 
if her folks in England want her. It will come like 
an iceberg on Holstein and his wife to part with her.” 

"I know that by my own feelings,” replied she, 
tearfully. “No one could be with her and not love 
her, and I am glad you have the kiudness to interest 
yourself in providing her with a home. God will re- 
ward you for it.” 

“ And if He don’t reward you for your kindness to 
her, ma’am, it will be queer. If you were her own 
sister you could not have taken more care of her. 
My old mother used to say to me when I was a little 
shaver, ( Daniel, remember one thing, — good deeds 
never die;’ and I believe, like everything else she 
said, it was true as gospel ; and if there’s not a blessing 
laid up for you somewhere, there’s none for anybody. 
Why, this little frock she has on is one of your making, 
isn’t it, ma’am ?” 

“Yes. I am sorry I had nothing but black to 
make it of, but I wished to save the little dress she 
wandered off in, thinking it might lead to her identi- 
fication.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


193 


“Well, she looks sweet as a pink in it anyhow; and 
now that that point is settled, you and I will go below, 
Lady-bird, and get that turnover pie cook promised us. 
And now,” he continued, as they walked away hand in 
hand, “ if it would only condescend to blow up a bit of 
a gale, I for one would not complain.” 

His wishes after a time were granted: storm and 
tempest prevailed for a while ; the “ Miriam,” no 
longer idly stationary, now plunging in the trough of 
the sea, now riding the topmost waves, gallantly kept 
her way, proving herself entirely seaworthy. The 
storm subsided and left behind it welcome breezes, 
which wafted her cheerily along, and in a short time 
brought them safely into harbor. 

Then came the time of parting. The moment the 
vessel touched the wharf the passengers vanished in 
every direction, and amid blinding tears the lady 
parted with her little charge, and taking a ring of rare 
beauty and singular workmanship from her finger, she 
clasped it in the soft palm of the child. 

“ Keep it always, darling, for my sake. Never part 
with it, and some time, God willing, I will see you 
again.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the captain, cheerfully. “I wifi 
tell them to take care of it for her. Give me your 
hand, Lady-bird.” And clasping the hand, ring, and all 
in his, the lady saw the dear little form borne up the 
street in the strong arms of the captain, one chubby 
arm thrown confidingly around his neck and her little 
bundle of clothing under his arm. 

She could restrain herself no longer, she must fol- 
17 * 


194 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


low and see at least something of the home to which 
the little one was consigned ; and hastily throwing on 
wrappings and veil, she rapidly followed. She did not 
wish to be noticed by the captain, the child, nor the per- 
sons with whom he left her. All she desired was to judge 
for herself by the surroundings what kind of a home 
the poor little waif had found ; to note the house, so 
that, if she remained for a time in Baltimore, she could 
pass it occasionally and perhaps be cheered by a glimpse 
of the sweet child face. 

A loud knock from the captain’s brawny fist on the 
oaken door of a handsome, substantial dwelling brought 
a small colored boy instantly, who stared at the sailor 
and his unique burden in undisguised wonder. 

“ Anything to be surprised at, youngster ?” said the 
jolly tar. “ Go tell your master that Captain Warfield 
and Lady-bird are waiting at the door, and tell him to 
come right away, for he hasn’t a minute’s time to stay. 
Now that’s a rhyme, Lady-bird, isn’t it?” smiling upon 
the child, as the boy went quickly upon his errand. 

The tearful watcher on the other side of the street 
saw a kind and pleasant-faced elderly gentleman come 
to the door, shake cordially the outstretched hand of 
Captain Warfield, and then before any words passed be- 
tween them reach out his arms for the little girl, who 
without the least hesitation allowed herself to be taken. 

“ That’s right,” said the captain, heartily. “ I knew 
she would have a good home with you, Holstein. I 
wanted to bring you a present, and I thought a 
daughter would be the very thing you would like 
best.” And he rapidly recounted the circumstances of 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


195 


her having been thrown upon his care. Before he had 
concluded his narrative a sweet-faced elderly lady made 
her appearance and stood beside her husband, and the 
watcher could see the flush of delight which mantled 
her cheek, and the glad sparkle of her eyes, as she 
took the little girl and kissed her. 

Into her charge the captain gave the little package 
of clothing, the ring, and all the information he could 
of the donor, and while he was thus engaged the lady, 
satisfied that her charge had found a good home, re- 
traced her steps rapidly to the vessel, and with her 
companion was ready to leave when he came aboard. 
Without suspecting that she had witnessed the whole 
affair, he gave them a circumstantial account, accurate 
in every particular, of his disposal of Crissy, and at 
their request directed them to a quiet inn, and in a 
short time they were installed in a pleasant, comfort- 
able room, where they were content to abide until they 
could get suited in a home. 

That very evening, while the fair-haired lady was 
taking her solitary cup of tea, — for her companion, as 
on shipboard, never left her room, but had her meals 
taken to her, — she overheard a conversation which de- 
cided her destiny for life. 

On such trifling incidents sometimes hang our des- 
tinies. 

The door between the supper-room and the one ad- 
joining was ajar, and the lady could see two gentlemen, 
seated in arm-chairs before a glowing grate, engaged in 
social conversation. It was a damp, chilly evening, 
and the cheerful comfort of the room was a pleasant 


196 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


picture, and soon became an interesting one to the 
waiting listener. One of the gentlemen had recently 
returned from a gunning expedition out in the country, 
and was entertaining his companion with an account of 
his trip. It appeared from the tenor of his discourse 
that he was pleased with his visit, had been generously 
entertained, and his admiration of Maryland hospitality 
was unbounded. 

“I don’t know what time they take to think about 
dying down there,” he was saying ; “ for it appears to 
me all their time is used up planning for good times 
on earth.” 

“ Yes, I have heard that a short life and a merry 
one is the rule,” said the other ; “ but I suppose, like 
every other, it has its exceptions. How’s Ogilvie 
getting along ?” 

“ Oh, first-rate : the very best place in the world to 
put in a rainy day; good fire, plenty of crabs and 
oysters, no woman and children bothering around, and 
the best servants in the world. I tell you what, Wag- 
ner, if a man wants to enjoy life, keeping bachelor’s 
hall is the only way, after all. That would be the life 
for me if I had the means to manage it the way Ogilvie 
does. I declare if old Jude cannot beat the beater in 
cooking wild game ; and if you want to see fried chicken 
and pounded biscuits that would make a man fight his 
uncle, just try old Jude’s.” 

“ Tastes differ, of course,” was the quiet response ; 
“ such a life would not suit me. Are there no white 
persons on the place but himself?” 

“ Not now \ he always had an overseer, who lived 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


197 


across-lots from the mansion-house, but Ogilvie got the 
notion in his head that he (that is, Ogilvie) was not 
taking enough exercise for his wholesome, so he dis- 
charged the overseer, and since the beginning of the 
year has been overseeing the place himself. He got 
afraid of apoplexy or something, and if high living 
brings it on, as some folks say it does, Ogilvie’s your 
boy.” 

“ Then you think he has no notion of marrying and 
bringing a wife there?” 

“Not he. He must have had a bitter experience 
with a woman some time or other in his life ; some 
say he courted a girl, and she died; others say she 
jilted him. Be that as it will, he never speaks of one, 
and I don’t believe he would ever look at one if he 
could avoid it.” 

“And who has the house the overseer occupied?” 
said his companion, more for the sake, it appeared, of 
carrying on his share of the conversation than for any 
interest he took in the answer. 

“ Oh, nobody ; and a pretty little place it is ! Pity 
to let such a place stand idle.” 

“ Don’t he try to rent it ?” 

“Catch Ogilvie trying to rent it; nothing like that 
costs him a thought. I don’t suppose he values it 
more than an old peach-basket, and would give it to 
the first one that asked it, rent free.” 

The lady listened to this dialogue with an interest 
that deepened every moment. Was not Providence 
pointing out the very way wherein they should walk ? 
Why not apply for the place, and, if possible, obtain 


198 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


it? She lingered to hear if there would be anything 
more said which would be of use to her ; but the con- 
versation was drifting into other channels, to which she 
could have listened if she wished, for it was a public 
conversation carried on in a public room, therefore she 
did not merit the stigma of eavesdropping. But it had 
no more interest for her ; so she quietly left the room, 
and took counsel of her companion. They obtained 
the address of Mr. Ogilvie without any difficulty, wrote 
to him, and in a day or so received an answer, giving 
them grant of the house and possession at any time ; 
so in less time than they thought possible, in a strange 
land, Aunt Ursula and Madame Angela found them- 
selves in a peaceful, quiet home suiting them in every 
way. 

In their first communication to him they had asked 
what rent he wished for it, and as he failed to answer 
the question they dropped him a line asking him to 
specify the sura. As the conversationMadame Angela 
had overheard the night of their arrival in Baltimore 
led them to expect, he put no value upon it ; it was of 
no account to him in any way ; they were welcome to 
it for nothing if they wished it. To that they would 
not agree ; he must put a value upon it, and after that 
they would trouble him no more. To satisfy them he 
set a price almost nominal, and they took possession. 
The first day of every year, as long as he lived, a 
sealed note containing the rent was sent by a trusty 
messenger, who returned in a short time with a receipt 
from Mr. Ogilvie, and that was the extent of the com- 
munication between the landlord and his tenants. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


199 


Sometimes, from one year’s end to another, they 
never met ; for Mr. Ogilvie, with the exception of his 
daily ride over his plantation, seldom left his dwelling. 
Every morning, in his white linen suit and broad- 
brimmed Panama hat, mounted on his black horse, 
and attended by a small colored boy to open gates, he 
took his daily airing; but he always steered clear of 
the cottage and its occupants, and they as sedulously 
avoided him, so all parties were suited. 

Aunt Ursula left the precincts of her home upon no 
pretence whatever. Those who learned to love her, 
notwithstanding her apparent coldness of manner, 
must, if they wished to enjoy her society, seek her; 
she never sought them. There was always a searching 
of the countenance of the neighbors who, attracted by 
their kindness, came to see them, as though deprecating 
the smile of ridicule her outre appearance would occasion 
at a first interview; but after the first embarrassment 
at seeing a new face passed away, although the reserve 
natural to her remained, she proved to be a delightful 
companion. With children she was always natural and 
self-possessed; their society soothed and tranquillized 
her, and although she never caressed them, they in- 
stinctively felt she was their friend. 

With Madame Angela it was somewhat different. 
For miles around she was known for her kindness to 
the sick and the afflicted, who considered her small 
hand endowed with power of healing possessed by no 
other. No day too stormy, no night too dark, to keep 
her from the bedside of the suffering who solicited her 
gentle ministrations; no presence more welcome, no 


200 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


prayers more consoling, than those offered for the 
dying; no sympathy more comforting than hers for 
the stricken mourners. But, excepting her visits to 
the house of affliction and attendance upon the occa- 
sional services of the village church, she seldom left 
her home. 

Thus the years passed tranquilly ; years which were 
gradually silvering the heads of the occupants of the 
small gray cottage, but years fraught with the bless- 
ings which contentment brought to them. The cu- 
riosity which their sudden appearance had excited in 
the neighborhood had long ago given place to loving 
esteem for their many endearing qualities. 

Although Aunt Ursula was never obtrusive, her influ- 
ence was felt in the neighborhood. She was such a stay 
and counsellor. Her powerful intellect stimulated the 
struggling ones to higher exertions; her words of en- 
couragement or advice roused flagging energies; her 
praise, not lavishly bestowed, warmed, strengthened, and 
cheered. She was not only the mainspring of her own 
home, but also of the neighborhood. Her advice was 
sought upon all knotty points of discussion, her peace- 
making qualities solicited to allay disturbances. Stand- 
ing aloof from active communication with her neighbors, 
she was upon neutral ground ; consequently, unbiassed 
by party faction, her opinion was unprejudiced, her ad- 
vice just and equitable. A dispute or misunderstanding 
disappeared like frost under the eagle gaze of her bril- 
liant eye; her subtle mind grasped a hidden meaning 
and dragged it forth to the light. Double-dealing could 
not escape her penetration, nor deception fail of win- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


201 


ning the contempt it merited. Yet, while scorning 
the offence, the offender was counselled so kindly, so 
much allowance was made by her for the faults of edu- 
cation, that she made few if any enemies among those 
she felt it to be her duty to admonish and reprove. 

In the fulness of time, but suddenly and unexpect- 
edly, Mr. Ogilvie died one winter night, quietly in his 
chair. No one knew when the spirit took its flight, for 
the servants, after clearing away the remains of his 
early tea, had left him, as they thought, and as he 
himself thought, well as usual, sitting by his cheerful 
wood fire in the open hearth of his library. When 
they arose in the morning they found him in the same 
position gazing stonily at the embers, from which hours 
before light and heat had fled. 

By law there were two heirs to his estate, his 
brother’s orphan daughter (Miss Sallie Ogilvie, after- 
wards Mrs. Richard Bryor) and Colonel Willoughby, 
only son of his only sister, and by will “ Ogilvie’s 
Pride” was inherited by Colonel Willoughby. The 
nephew had the generous qualities of the uncle with- 
out the failings. He was a Christian, noble in appear- 
ance, and possessing a highly-cultivated mind, — the 
very last person to disturb the tender attachment of 
Aunt Ursula and Madame Angela for their modest 
home. 

Colonel Willoughby’s family consisted of but three 
members beside himself. Those were his wife, — who 
was an invalid, — his little daughter Mary, and a dis- 
tant cousin, who occupied the place of housekeeper. 

During the short time Mrs. Willoughby lived after 
18 


202 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


taking possession of “Ogilvie’s Pride” she and their 
tenants had never met. Faint echoes of their kind- 
ness and usefulness reached her sick-room. She felt 
they were persons with whom she could trust her pre- 
cious child so soon to be deprived of a mother’s loving 
care, so a short time before her death she wrote a polite 
note to Madame Angela entreating her to have an 
oversight over Mary, and to allow her to remain with 
them as much as convenient. At the time of the birth- 
day anniversary, Mrs. Willoughby had been dead nearly 
two years, and Mary had been the beloved companion 
and pupil of the ladies in the cottage, who loved her as 
their own, and she often remained days at a time with 
them. 

It was dreary for the child at “Ogilvie’s Pride,” and 
Colonel Willoughby used that as his most persuasive 
argument to induce Madame Angela to become his 
wife and mother to his motherless child. 

“ Yes, providing you were willing.” 

The words were scarcely spoken that night when 
Aunt Ursula and Madame Angela sat in the summer- 
house enjoying the lovely moonlight evening, when a 
carriage came rapidly up the broad and level road and 
stopped at their gate. The night was so bright they 
had no difficulty in recognizing the equipage. The 
handsome, high-mettled horses, the glittering silver- 
mounted harness, the colored coachman and footman* 
were owned by Colonel Willoughby; but what could 
be their errand there at that late hour? They were 
not left long in doubt. 

Colonel Willoughby had been thrown from his horse 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 203 

and his life endangered. He wished to see Madame 
Angela on some business matters. Would she go? 

Of course she would. When did Madame Angela 
turn a deaf ear to sorrow or distress? Feeling as 
though moving in a dream, she allowed herself to be 
helped into the coach, and was driven rapidly away. 
It was well the drive was short, and soon came to an 
end, for Madame Angela was fast becoming incapable 
of sustaining herself. She was white and haggard and 
trembling when she alighted at the door, where she was 
received by the housekeeper, who, being excited herself, 
failed to notice the nervous condition of Madame An- 
gela, as she conducted her through the brilliantly 
lighted hall and up the soft-carpeted stairway to the 
door of Colonel Willoughby’s room, where she left her 
to make her entrance alone. 

Although in the extremity of danger, Colonel Wil- 
loughby’s mind was clear, and he suffered but little 
pain. He noticed in Madame Angela what the house- 
keeper had failed to see. Her ghastly, sorrow-stricken 
looks could only be caused by grief for his approaching 
dissolution. She could not be so deeply moved unless 
she loved him, and hope sprang up in his heart, — not 
for himself, for earthly love could avail him nothing 
now, but for his daughter, whom he loved more than 
life. 

“I knew you would come,” he said, extending his 
hand, as she sank, weak and trembling, in a chair by 
his bedside. “ Something told me you could not deny 
the dying that which you have refused me while in 
health. My physician tells me that my time is short, 


204 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

and I have much to say. Promise me that you will 
grant a dying man’s request. Make ‘ Ogilvie’s Pride’ 
your and Miss Ursula’s home after my death, and thus 
be protectors of my orphaned Mary. Oh, it almost 
maddens me,” he continued, his eyes filling, “ to think 
she may become the prey of some fortune-hunter, who 
will seek her for her wealth alone; for she will be rich 
not only with what she will inherit from me, but in her 
own right. Her mother was an orphan, was adopted 
by a wealthy family, who left her their property, and 
my Mary gets it all when she comes of age. They 
have been dead several years, and Mary has no one to 
look to but you. Will you promise ?” 

“I will.” 

“And Miss Ursula?” inquired the colonel, anxiously. 

“ Will view the matter in the same light.” 

“ Merciful Father, I thank Thee !” said the injured 
man, feebly, as he closed his eyes in prayer. “ Now I 
am happy ; now I can die in peace. All that remains 
for me is to give you some instructions in regard to my 
affairs. My will is made ; I attended to that a month 
ago; you will find it among my papers in my escri- 
toire. In my will I have appointed Miss Ursula and 
yourself as guardians of Mary. My attorney will 
see that a trusty overseer is provided, and you will 
have no charge or trouble with outside matters, for 
it is my wish and hope that your life shall not be dis- 
turbed by my death. It remains for you to say, 
Angela, whether there is any need of my leaving a 
will,” he said, taking her hand, and gazing anxiously 
into her colorless face. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 205 

“In what way?” said Madame Angela, faintly, a 
tinge of rose coming into her cheek. 

“ Become my wife even now, and there will be no 
need of a will. The law allows the wife of an hour the 
same rights as those of a score of years. Let me send 
for a chaplain this hour. Then my dying moments 
will be blessed by the presence of my wife.” 

“ I cannot, — oh, I cannot !” said poor Madame An- 
gela, growing paler than before. And, rising from the 
bedside, she glided to the door, and opening it stealth- 
ily, she glanced down the long hallway. It was ten- 
antless, and coming back, she said, speaking rapidly, — 

“ Colonel Willoughby, when you came to this neigh- 
borhood I had been here many years. Did no rumors 
reach you of our reticence in regard to our former 
life?” 

“ Not a word ; no one spoke except in terms of loving 
praise of your kind and useful lives.” 

Madame Angela became more tranquil ; the troubled 
look passed from her eyes, and she proceeded more 
firmly, but in a low voice. 

“ Then I hope it will not be too much of a surprise 
or shock when I tell you that I am not a widow, as you 
have supposed, but a wedded wife.” 

“ And your husband ?” 

“ Is the lover of my youth, loving and beloved.” 

A long silence reigned in the sick-room after these 
words were spoken. Madame Angela sank back in the 
depths of the easy-chair by the bedside, seemed dread- 
ing the effect of her words, and gazed anxiously upon 
the dying man. 


18 * 


206 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

She would not have recalled her words if she could ; 
it was no more than his kindness to her, and the confi- 
dence he reposed in her, merited. She could not let 
him die without telling him that she was not what her 
manner of dress and opinion of the neighborhood had 
led him to suppose. She felt that it would be deceiving 
him not to confide so important a matter to him ; it 
might change his plans in regard to little Mary, but 
she would do the right, let the result be as it would. 

When the communication first reached Colonel Wil- 
loughby’s ear a look of mute surprise alone marked his 
features; but as she furtively watched him she saw 
that look had given place to one of grave perplexity. 
His thoughts were rapidly travelling the lanes and by- 
paths of the years which had intervened since he had 
knowledge of Madame Angela. His fixed eye and cor- 
rugated brow showed that his sagacious and penetrating 
mind was unravelling the thread of a fabric of which 
the clue had been but just put into his almost nerveless 
hand. All at once his eye lighted, his breath came 
and went quickly, and reaching out his hand, he 
grasped that of Madame Angela. 

“ I see it all now. Of course you could not be my 
wife. God bless you both and bring you home to heaven ! 
That will not change my plans,” he continued, after 
recruiting his failing strength with a cordial which 
Madame Angela held to his lips. “ I have but a few 
more directions to give, but before you leave me I wish 
to intrust to your care a box containing some treasures 
for Mary. They were her mother’s,” he remarked, as, 
obeying a motion of his hand, Madame Angela brought 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 207 

a rosewood box, which resembled a writing-desk, and 
rested it on a chair by the bedside. 

He selected a key from a bunch she handed him, and 
requested her to unlock it. She complied, and raising 
a piece of satin paper, a little blue merino dress met her 
view, then a dainty white ruffled apron, and a little 
pair of worn shoes, hardened by time, but which caused 
a thrill to pass over Madame Angela which almost de- 
prived her of consciousness, and lastly a ring, the very 
one she had clasped in the little hand of Crissy on 
shipboard so many years before. 

“ Colonel Willoughby, how came you by these 
things ?” she exclaimed, her eyes darkening, and her 
lips perfectly colorless from emotion. 

“ They were my wife’s, you remember I told you : I 
wished to keep them for Mary.” 

“ Who was your wife ?” 

“ Christine Holstein. The ring was given to her by a 
lady who took charge of her when she crossed the ocean 
alone from England, and of whom Christine spoke ten- 
derly until the day of her death. Why do they thus 
affect you ?” 

“That ring was mine. I clasped it in her hand the 
day I parted from her, — Christine, my little Christine, 
who slept in my arms, and whom I loved as my own, 
— and she was your wife. Did she never return to her 
home? I supposed she had left America long ago.” 

“No; her mother was dead when word was sent 
back that Christine had found a good home with Mr. 
Holstein ; they adopted her, and she was loved as a 
daughter.” 


208 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ Lived within sight of my cottage for months and 
I never knew it,” sighed poor Madame Angela. “ Ah, 
that was too cruel !” 

“ It was indeed a cruel fate that kept you apart. 
Christine spoke of you until the day of her death. 
She could not remember your appearance, and, although 
Captain Warfield gave the Holstein’s your name, and 
described you as accurately as he could, all their, and my 
endeavors to trace you were of no avail.” 

“ We did not give the names we bear now, on ship- 
board, or at the hotel in Baltimore where we stopped, 
so they had no clue.” 

61 And now,” said Colonel Willoughby, “ will you 
do me one more kindness ? Send the carriage for my 
attorney : I have a little more business to settle with him 
before I depart. While he is with me the carriage can 
take you back to the cottage. I shall never see you 
again in this world. Farewell !” 

Madame Angela obeyed Colonel Willoughby’s wishes 
to wait for the arrival of the attorney in the parlor be- 
low; then she took her departure from “Ogilvie’s 
Pride,” which was so soon to be her home. 

Before the sun rose, Colonel Willoughby’s spirit had 
returned to the God who gave it. Mary Willoughby 
lost a devoted father, the neighborhood an influential 
citizen, the church one of its most useful members, and 
Madame Angela a true and faithful friend. The bene- 
fits he could not bestow upon her while living he 
reached forth to her from the grave, and she could not 
refuse to accept them. 

When the will of Colonel Willoughby was read the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


209 


day of the funeral, it was found that Aunt Ursula and 
Madame Angela were appointed guardians of Mary 
Willoughby during her minority. They were to make 
“ Ogilvie’s Pride” their home until she became of age, 
then Mary and they could make arrangements as to 
their remaining with her or seeking another home. In 
case of Mary Willoughby’s death before she attained 
majority, “ Ogilvie’s Pride” was to belong to Madame 
Angela, to will and bequeath as she deemed best. 

A liberal annuity for life was bequeathed to Aunt 
Ursula and Madame Angela, to be paid into their 
hands the beginning of every year. They left the 
humble home which had become endeared to them, and 
took up their abode at “ Ogilvie’s Pride.” No looking 
forward now to lonely and poverty-stricken old age. 
All that was removed by the munificence of the hus- 
band of the little waif whom they had befriended. 
They had cast their bread upon the waters, and after 
many days it had returned. 


210 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


CHAPTER XVI. 

CAROLINE A HEROINE. 

“ The weak one waxes brave. 

A gleam of worth, a noble deed 
Lights up a robber’s cave.” 

Archie Levering’s father had been his aunt 
Hesba’s pet. Her desolate heart clung to David in his 
boyhood with an affection deeper than was perhaps 
possible with his mother. Mercy was one of those 
affectionate beings, easily influenced, mild and forbear- 
ing, but her feelings were neither deep nor strong. 
She was one who would nurse her child through a long 
sickness with untiring patience and devotion, sparing 
herself in no way ; yet, were that child, notwithstand- 
ing all her sleepless care, taken by the angel of death, 
her submission was so perfect that most observers 
would have mistaken it for indifference. 

It was to Hesba that David had gone with all his 
boyish troubles and confidences ; Hesba who gave him 
what little pocket-money he required, and whom Da- 
vid rewarded with boyish love equal to the filial affec- 
tion he had for his mother. And now David’s son 
was there in David’s old place, and yet Hesba could not 
roll back the tide of years to take him into her heart 
and cherish him as she had cherished David. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


211 


She had grown older. The three — Archibald, 
Mercy, and herself — had rested in quietness so long 
that a new element, like that of an active, growing 
boy, disturbed and disconcerted her, and Archie had 
been there many weeks before she began to feel really 
satisfied to have him about. 

As for Archie, he became better satisfied every day. 
He went to Cousin Melie’s school, until he should be 
far enough advanced for promotion to the new school- 
house on the hill, and from thence to Dorton Academy, 
and in his leisure hours interested himself in every- 
thing about the place : currying the old gray horse, 
which soon showed signs of the extra attention it was 
receiving, and petting every animal on the place that 
was willing to be petted. There were so many objects 
of interest to a boy, surrounding Archie. The mill, 
for one thing, was a continual source of pleasure. He 
never wearied watching the huge water-wheel as it per- 
formed its allotted task with such dignified faithfulness, 
and the miller’s admiration was hearty indeed at the 
boy’s quickness in understanding the management of 
the machinery. Many happy hours did Archie spend 
in the family of the miller, who lived in the little 
whitewashed cottage down by the mill. Yes, he was 
certainly contented, which was more than could be said 
for his young aunt, Caroline. 

One would suppose that before many weeks had 
elapsed Caroline Levering would have naturally 
dropped into the niche she had occupied before her 
visit to St. Louis. But such was not the case. The 
letters which she received from her cousin, Sylvia 


212 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Harkness, and which Caroline considered her only 
pleasure, but added to the measure of her discontent. 
The gay, sparkling missives, filled with gossipy news 
of the sayings and doings of the . brilliant world of 
society of which Caroline had once been a valued 
member and from which she considered herself un- 
necessarily drawn, formed a striking contrast to the 
answering letters, and no one was more conscious of it 
than Caroline herself. 

Archie’s letters from his mother also spoke of the 
pleasures of their winter evenings, specified by Mrs. 
Amanda with the design to amuse and instruct her boy, 
and which answered the desired end without creating 
one thought of discontent. These were read by Caro- 
line with eager interest, and the contrast bitterly drawn 
between the lives of the writers, and her own objectless 
existence. Although since her return home her brother 
David’s widow had sent her several kind and pressing 
invitations to visit the city, she had never gone, for the 
simple reason that she would not step foot in the ante- 
diluvian carriage, and there was no other conveyance. 

“ Caroline,” said her aunt one morning, as the young 
girl languidly arose from the breakfast-table, “ there is 
to be preaching over at the village this evening. Will 
you go ?” 

“ Oh, Aunt Hesba, what good could it do me to go 
trailing through the wet grass for the sake of hearing 
a stupid, ignorant preacher, and see people with bonnets 
on ten years behind the times?” 

Hesba’s face flushed angrily. “That is the very 
reason I asked you to go, Caroline. I thought it 


AND IIIS FRIENDS. 


213 


might do you good, and I don’t know anybody who 
stands more in need of it than yourself. It is only a 
mile across to Dorton, as you well know, travelling it 
twice a day, as you did when you were younger and 
better. The grass is not damp at this time of year, 
and one has a good long rest there before walking the 
mile back.” 

“ You are not going, are you?” inquired Caroline. 

“To be sure I am, and you certainly ought to stand 
the walk as well as I.” 

“ You do not go alone through these lonely fields, 
do you ?” 

“ No ; Archie, the dear boy, will go with me. Mrs. 
Wheeler goes when she can, and we sometimes call for 
Mrs. Grayson, or Marcia.” 

“ Archie was saying this morning before you were 
up, Caroline,” said Mrs. Levering, who had been a 
silent listener to the conversation, “ that Mrs. Wheeler 
told him last evening that you were welcome to prac- 
tise on her piano if you wished. She said you would 
be apt to get rusty in your music if you had nothing 
to practise on.” 

“What! the miller’s wife? Has she a piano in 
that pigeon-box she lives in ?” 

“ It was a pigeon-box large enough to hold your 
mother,” said Aunt Hesba, grimly; “do not forget 
that she was born there, and always lived thereuntil 
she married your father.” 

“ I expect it is some old tin pan of an affair,” said 
Caroline, ignoring her aunt’s remark; “some old- 
fashioned thing they have picked up second-hand to 
19 


214 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


bring out here, thinking to astonish the neighbor- 
hood.” 

“I am no judge of pianos, Caroline, as you well 
know,” said her mother; “ but Mrs. Wheeler makes 
good music on it. I know enough to know that.” 

“ What ! does she play ?” said Caroline, with 
awakened interest, — “ the miller’s wife!” 

“ If it had been summer-time, and the doors all 
open, there would have been no need to have asked 
that question ; and being a miller’s wife need not pre- 
vent her knowing A from B,” said her aunt. 

“No,” said Caroline, retreating a little from her 
position ; “ but it is a wonder she married a miller.” 

“Your father is not a miller, I suppose?” remarked 
Aunt Hesba, dryly. 

“Father owns the mill, and hires a miller,” replied 
Caroline, with marked emphasis. 

“ It was very kind in Mrs. Wheeler to make the 
offer, at any rate,” said Mrs. Levering, soothingly; 
“you ought to go down and thank her, dear.” 

“ She has never called on me,” said Caroline, with 
curling lip; “ I shall wait for that.” 

“ Well, I hope you will have to wait a while,” said 
Aunt Hesba, as she arose to leave the room. “ Ho be 
a sensible girl, Caroline, if you can ; put on your bon- 
net this afternoon and go down there, and not wait for 
such nonsense here as a first call.” 

“ I do think Aunt Hesba grows more disagreeable 
every day,” remarked her niece, as Hesba withdrew 
from hearing, “ and I still say that it is strange that the 
miller’s wife plays the piano.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


215 


“I do not know why her husband’s occupation 
should make a difference in that way,” replied her 
mother, mildly. “ But Mr. Wheeler was not always a 
miller ; he was book-keeper in the city when he mar- 
ried Mrs. Wheeler.” 

“And how did he happen to get out here with 
father?” asked Caroline, who, having read everything 
she had brought home in her trunk, was, for lack 
of something to interest her, prolonging the conver- 
sation. 

“ He learned the milling business when a boy; his 
health had not been very good for some time, and he 
thought it might be better here. He has friends in 
Dorton who sent him word that your father wanted a 
change of millers; Mr. Wheeler came out to see about 
it, and your father employed him.” 

“ His wife must be a strange creature to be contented 
here.” 

“ She has her household duties to take an interest in ; 
a sweet little daughter, Annette, and the baby, — both 
great company for Archie, — and just now has a little 
nephew of Mr. Wheeler’s visiting there.” 

It was evident that Mrs. Wheeler knew what etiquette 
required of her; for a few days after Caroline’s con- 
versation in regard to her she called, card-case in hand, 
and clad in a neat and becoming toilet. Caroline could 
not help being pleased with her gentle, self-possessed 
neighbor, and had thought that enough time had 
elapsed to return the visit, when Aunt Hesba ven- 
tured again to ask her to accompany her to church at 
Dorton. A preacher was visiting round at different 


21G 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


churches, and although that of Dorton came on his list 
of a week-day, and one of Aunt Hesba’s busiest days 
at that, she never thought of missing such an oppor- 
tunity, and to her pleased surprise Caroline accepted 
the invitation, and accompanied her. 

After church, Aunt Hesba lingered to shake hands 
with the minister and to chat with old friends, and 
Caroline, impatient at the delay, set out for home 
alone. Her reflections were not cheerful as she walked 
along. She had only gone to church to kill time, 
and the benefit derived from the services was slight in- 
deed. 

She was startled from the revery into which she had 
fallen by a scream of terror, and looking towards the 
dam, above the mill, she saw a small boy disappear 
beneath the water, while several terrified comrades 
stood on the bank helpless to render assistance. Throw- 
ing aside bonnet and gloves in her rapid flight, Caroline 
rushed to the bank, plunged into the smooth, clear 
water, and swam swiftly towards the drowning boy. 
Twice he sank and rose, and was disappearing for the 
third time when Caroline grasped him. 

“ Don’t, ” she cried, sharply, as the boy strove to 
clasp her about the neck ; “ I will save you if you do 
not hinder me. If you drag me under, we will both 
drown.” 

Holding him on one arm, she grasped the boat from 
which he had fallen, and resting her other arm upon 
it assisted him into it, and, after waiting a moment to 
recover breath, struck out for the shore, taking the 
boat with her. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


217 

t 

She had not been in the water for several years ; the 
weight of her clothing retarded her motion, and she 
was weary from her walk ; but she was a fearless and 
expert swimmer, she was determined to save the boy, 
and she did save him. Almost exhausted she reached 
the shore, where stood Mrs. Wheeler, pale and anxious, 
— having seen the whole occurrence from her window, — 
the boy being her husband’s nephew. 

In a gush of gratitude Mrs. Wheeler clasped the 
shivering girl to her breast, and besought her to go 
with them to the cottage, which was nearer than her 
own house; but Caroline declined, and with rapid 
steps crossed the meadow, and in a few moments 
reached home. Kind and anxious hands removed wet 
clothing; heating drinks were administered; comfort- 
able beds received rescuer and rescued. The evening 
which Caroline had expected to pass drearily as usual 
was a pleasant one, happier than she had spent since 
her return to her father’s house. 

The next evening Caroline walked down to see the 
boy. His unexpected bath had been no benefit to 
him ; he was flushed with fever. Caroline offered to 
spend the night with them if she could be of any use, 
an offer which Mrs. Wheeler gladly accepted, and word 
was sent up to the house not to expect her home until 
morning. 

The little patient was not ill enough to require much 
attention, so Caroline and Mrs. Wheeler sat by the cot- 
tage fire and talked the live-long night. The offer of 
the use of the piano was renewed, and accepted by Car- 
oline, who was charmed with the really fine instrument, 
19 * 


218 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

and also Mrs. Wheeler’s sweet and plaintive style of 
playing upon it. 

“ It was a gift from a dear friend, and quite a ro- 
mantic love-affair was connected with it. Would you 
like to hear it?” said Mrs. Wheeler, smilingly. 

“Indeed I would,” replied Caroline, “and there is 
no better time than the present.” 

“ I will commence at the very beginning,” said Mrs. 
Wheeler, “and, as I never like to be the heroine of my 
story, if agreeable to you I will speak of myself in the 
third person instead of the first.” 

“Agreed,” said Caroline, gayly; “I am all atten- 
tion.” 

Mrs. Wheeler went in the adjoining room to take a 
look at the sick boy, and found him sleeping quietly; 
replenished the wood fire on the hearth, set a plate of 
apples and biscuits on the little table between Caroline 
and herself, and commenced her story. 

“ ‘ There’s a lady in the parlor, ma’am. Shall I tell 
her ye’ll be coming down presently, or tell her you are 
sick, an’ to come some other time?’ 

“ ‘ Do you think she wishes to see me particularly, 
Bridget, or is it only a call ?’ 

“ ‘She didn’t say, ma’am. She is nice an’ quiet-like, 
an’ just axed for the mistress of the house.’ 

“ ‘ Well, tell her I will see her as soon as I can,’ said 
Mrs. Wheeler, rising slowly from her recumbent posi- 
tion and languidly proceeding to bind up her disordered 
hair. 1 Oh, dear, I feel so sick ! I am not able to 
stand. Go down, Bridget, and ask her to please send 
up her name.’ 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


219 


“ ‘ She is after the place, ma’am/ said Bridget, return- 
ing in a moment. ‘ She says she saw your advertise- 
ment and thought she might suit, for she knows all 
about housework; an’ ye’d better take her, ma’am,’ 
added Bridget, confidentially, “ for she’s nice an’ nate- 
spoken, an’ you know I must lave you this evenin’, 
an’ ye’er not fit to be left.’ 

“ Poor Mrs. Wheeler felt the force of this reasoning. 
She had been suffering all day with sick headache, and 
at that particular moment felt that her head was a re- 
volving wheel, performing its evolutions so swiftly that 
it gave her no time to think; but in the whirl she 
caught the words ‘nice and nate-spoken,’ and they 
sounded pleasant and soothing to her ear. Her kind- 
hearted but inefficient half-grown help had answered 
the call of her widowed mother to ‘come home and 
nurse the sick childer,’ and after the early tea was over 
she was to depart. 

“ Mrs. Wheeler had held a levee for several days past, 
hoping to get some one competent to fill that important 
niche in the household economy, the kitchen. She had 
asked and answered questions time about until she felt 
like a walking catechism, for you see it was somewhat 
difficult for one placed just as she was to get help that 
suited. She could not offer high wages, for her hus- 
band was only a clerk on a limited salary, — a very lim- 
ited one, by the way, when one considered that every- 
thing had to come out of it; and she, poor little woman ! 
had been trained by an indulgent mother who preferred 
doing the housework herself, foolishly arguing that her 
daughter’s troubles would come soon enough. Then 


220 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


in the experience gained by her six months’ siege of 
housekeeping she erroneously imagined that poor help 
was the cheapest, so never had any one from whom she 
could learn anything. By dint of economy she bought 
a recipe-book, determined to learn to cook; but never 
having heard of our good Marian Harland and many 
others, whose directions any child could understand 
and profit by, purchased one in which the quantities 
were on so large a scale and the qualities so gorgeous 
that she derived but little aid and comfort from it. 
And oh, dear! she sometimes thought her husband was 
to be pitied for uniting himself to such a useless piece 
of creation as herself. Dearly as she loved him and 
her .little home, she almost wished she was not married 
at all, but was back again with her mother and he com- 
ing to see her as in the old happy days of courtship. 

“ She never knew before that she was so exacting and 
hard to please ; but out of the avalanche of applicants 
of almost every nation, age, and color, the post was as 
yet unprovided for. Sick at heart, she had resolved 
not an hour back that, let the next applicant be a rep- 
resentative of the frigid North or torrid South, Ethio- 
pian, Chinese, Crete, or Arabian, she would take her 
and make the best of her, and here was her chance. 

“ But in the mean time, here was Bridget, standing in 
the middle of the close and darkened room, and there 
was Mrs. ‘ What’s-her-Name’ in the parlor below, both 
waiting for the verdict, and she must come to a decision, 
so she said, slowly, ‘ Tell her to stay, Bridget, and I 
will come down as soon as I can.’ Nothing loath, her 
handmaid briskly departed, and in the shortest possible 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 221 

time had the 1 lady in black’ switched off to her room 
in the attic to lay aside her bonnet. 

“ ‘An’ what may one be after calling ye, ma’am ?’ she 
asked, respectfully, as they at last reached the bare and 
comfortless apartment which in the Wheeler house was 
occupied by the ‘ help.’ 

‘“You may call me Mrs. Grey, for that is my name,’ 
replied the new-comer, gently, as she laid her bonnet 
on a chair, the only article of furniture the room con- 
tained, except the dreary-looking bed and Bridget’s 
little old trunk. 

“ s Sure, an’ I must go down now, for the mistress is 
after wanting a cup of tay ; she axed me for it before 
you come at all, an’ because I went out this afternoon 
the desaving fire must go out too, an’ I was just puttin’ 
some water in a tin cup over some shavens to save time 
like as you ringed.’ 

“ Mrs. Grey excused her, and then with a heavy heart 
took a view of her surroundings; being few, it was not 
a difficult thing to do. While she stands there we will 
take a glance at her, hoping we will find more to inter- 
est us than the apartment afforded her. 

“ We see a slight but well-developed figure, a little 
below the medium height, apparently between twenty- 
five and thirty years of age. The abundant and lus- 
trous hair, brushed smoothly back from the low, broad 
forehead, matched well the mild brown eyes; a fair, 
blooming complexion, a sweet, winning countenance, 
little dimples playing hide-and-seek around the rosy 
lips, and above all the halo of dainty neatness; and 
this woman had applied for the situation of housemaid. 


222 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


"Why? 

“ Because, blessed with a good mind and an excellent 
education, she had as yet been unable to make them 
available so far as concerned the filling of her empty 
purse. Poverty was the shadow that followed her 
down-sittings and her uprisings, so she called her 
stand-by, common sense, to her aid, and was endeavor- 
ing to follow her suggestions. 

“ Left a widow three years before, the memory of her 
short and happy married life was like the glow of the 
setting sun before a storm. Since her husband’s death 
she had tried the few avenues for earning a livelihood 
open to women ; had experimented upon teaching, but 
her warm woman’s heart would have her favorites ; she 
could not help petting and praising the bright and obe- 
dient ones; neither could she help being intolerant to 
the dull and disobedient; therefore she earned the 
name, and not without cause, of being partial, a crime 
in the eyes of parents whose children were not the 
objects of favoritism ; consequently she was unpopular. 
She was conscientious, also ; was always at war with 
herself, fearing those intrusted to her care did not im- 
prove as fast as was expected, which opened her eyes to 
the fact that teaching was not her vocation ; it wore her 
out body and mind. 

“ Then she tried to earn her living by her needle, but 
with the usual result of so sedentary a life, — she became 
nervous and irritable ; she longed to be up and doing, 
to feel that she was accomplishing something; her 
thoughts flew faster than her needle, and neither 
thoughts nor needle brought her the comforts of a 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


223 


home. She also tried clerkship in a store, but it hap- 
pened to be one of those where the clerks were expected 
to be upon their feet all the time. The standing all day 
kept her from sleeping at night from weariness and 
pain ; so, like her former plans, she tried clerkship in 
the balance and found it wanting. 

“ But there was an occupation she made up her mind 
to try, whereby she was sure she could support herself, 
and that was housework. She loved it; to her it was 
never monotonous ; how could it be when it embraced 
nearly every trade and occupation under the sun, 

‘ brewer and baker and candlestick-maker/ with a spice 
of the arts and sciences thrown in ? She knew that 
being mistress in one’s own house and maid in some- 
body else’s were two different things, but every situa- 
tion in life has its trials, and this had pleasures for her 
that no other possessed. It would be a change for her, 
give her new and varied experiences. 

“ She had seen life in the station in which she had 
moved, and learned much of it; she was now prepared 
to make her experience available. She would enter 
different homes. Seeing both sides of the picture, her 
knowledge of human nature would be deeper and 
broader; she would gain a victory over self by giving 
up a shadow for a substance, — the shadow, a false shame 
at the humble position, the substance, a comfortable, 
respectable home without the anxieties attendant upon 
the procuring of it. 

“And to do our little Mrs. Grey justice, we must 
mention that she had a more unselfish motive in taking 
this step than to provide for herself the necessaries of 


224 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


life, although, of course, not in so great a degree. She 
wished, as far as lay in her power, to aid others who, 
like herself, were dependent upon their own exertions 
to lay aside the prejudices attached to household service. 
She saw that milliners’ rooms and stores and factories 
were thronged with applicants for something to do, 
while the occupation they were best fitted for was at 
their doors, but they bade it pass by. She would let 
her light shine that some one, attracted by it, might be 
encouraged to go and do likewise. She did not expect 
her servile experience to be all sunshine; life and its 
vicissitudes had taught her better than that ; but oh ! 
at the very outset, this bedroom was more than she 
had bargained for. 

“ In all her varied experiences she had always looked 
forward at the close of a weary day to the rest and 
quietness and soothing influence of her pleasant room, 
where, surrounded by her comfortable rocking-chairs, 
her bright carpet, her books, her plants, her pictures, 
and all the little refinements that a cultivated woman 
will collect around her, let her circumstances be what 
they may, and utter, utter despondency took possession 
of her and for a few moments weighed her down. She 
had passed the open doors of cheerful bedrooms, which 
appeared to be unoccupied, on her way to this den ; the 
parlor was cosey and comfortable, and even handsome 
in its appointments ; the hall and stairway neat, and 
suited to the modest habitation ; why, then, was the 
housemaid’s room alone to show the dross? 

“ When she had seen nursery-maids flitting about with 
their charges, and neat housemaids going their several 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


225 


ways, it never occurred to her that they could be con- 
demued to mount such weary flights of steps to attain 
so cheerless an abode, to spend what to her was her 
happiest time, her beloved after-supper hours. And, 
as in times past, when in tribulation, she called upon a 
good friend to come and comfort her, and that good 
friend was contrast ; but she asked it now to reverse 
the manner of its comfort, and instead of pointing out 
her blessings, to show up her losses; and she sadly 
thought, if the comfortless couch were but pressed by 
the rosy form of her year-old daughter, whose lowly 
bed was clothed in the tender green of the sweet spring- 
time, how reconciled would she be to it, and to all the 
rest of her discomforts ! how gladly would she welcome 
the repose it offered ! And in this way contrast showed 
her that it was not in her surroundings, but in herself 
and the view she took of them, that her happiness 
consisted. 

“ Having put her hand to the plough, she would not 
turn back, at least she would prove all things and hold 
fast to that which was good; and, strengthened by this 
comforting conclusion, she descended to enter upon her 
duties. 

“ A person less experienced would have been struck 
with dismay at the appearance of that kitchen, which 
for the day had been under Bridget’s charge, but our 
little Mrs. Grey did not look at it in that light at all. 
She saw at a glance that it was lacking in none of the 
essentials required in the groundwork of a home. It 
was roomy and light, and all it needed was a deft hand 
to convert it in a marvellously short time into a cheery 
20 


226 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


and comfortable place, and her spirits rose accordingly. 
The presiding genius of the place was down on her 
knees in front of the range, blowing lustily at a few 
splinters which she had stuck in a grate full of dead 
coal in every stage of combustion. 

“ ‘ Sure, an’ it’s the fire that does be contrairy when I 
axes it to burn to make the mistress her tay,’ said she, 
lifting a pair of watery eyes to her co-laborer ; ‘ she’s 
been waitin’ so long for it, an’ she hasn’t tasted the bite 
to-day since breakfast; an’ it’s mighty short work she 
made of that same; an’ what with ‘one thing an’ an- 
other, she’ll think it long a-comin’.’ 

“ ‘ Poor woman !’ thought Mrs. Grey, ‘ sick and want- 
ing a cup of tea, and expecting it to come out of this 
chaos.’ And the dismal bedroom was forgotten as she 
set about making the refreshing beverage. 

You get some kindling for me, Bridget, and I’ll 
make the fire and get the tea,’ she said, briskly, and 
Bridget obeyed with alacrity. ‘ And now,’ she added, 
pleasantly, as Bridget scattered her load in front of the 
range, ‘if you will just slip up into my room and get 
a calico wrapper you will see there, I will show you 
how to make a first-rate fire before you could say Betsy 
Bobbit.’ 

“ The wrapper was brought, and, to Bridget’s open- 
mouthed wonder, slipped on over the neat black dress, 
immaculate white apron, and dainty collar and cuffs. 
It had no lining, was loose, and was donned in less 
time than it takes to tell it. The coal was turned out, 
the kindling lighted and laid in such a manner that it 
could not help burning if it tried, because intelligence 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


227 


was brought to bear upon it, and, though deaf, dumb, 
and blind, it felt the power; a little fresh coal was 
added just under the griddle, the kettle set on, with no 
more water than was necessary, and then Mrs. Grey had 
time to take another look at her future home. 

“ ‘ What are all these unwashed dishes and pans piled 
up on this table for, Bridget, and these scales and sugar 
and recipe-book ?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, that is where the mistress was a-makin’ of the 
curran’-jelly. I could not help laughing, ma’am, an’ 
I was sorry for her, too, to see her worriting over that 
jelly. She was up wid the lark this mornin’, for she 
wanted to have some made an’ cool, to surprise Mr. 
Wheeler at dinner wid jelly of her own makin’, an’ 
she said it would be so nice to have when sickness 
corned into the house; an’ she picked every little stim 
off the curran’s, an’ she washed them through ever so 
many waters, an’ she weighed an’ weighed the sugar, 
an’ biled the jelly, an’ worrited wid that same until 
she took the sick headache, an’ she sat down an’ cried 
jist when it was done an’ cold an’ she found she could 
nayther cut it wid a knife nor crack it wid a hammer.’ 

“ ‘ It was boiled too much, Bridget,’ said Mrs. Grey, 
compassionately, for it called to mind the failures and 
weariness of her own early housekeeping days, and she 
could sympathize with the disappointments. The little 
episode gave her an insight to the character of her em- 
ployer, and without having seen her, she judged her 
to be kind and affectionate, anxious to do her part in 
life as mistress of a home on a limited income, desirous 
of practising economy, and disheartened at waste. 


228 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


“ All this she told me afterwards, remember,” said 
Mrs. Wheeler, with a little laugh. 

Caroline nodded approvingly, and Mrs. Wheeler con- 
tinued : 

“By this time the water had boiled, and Mrs. Grey 
made the tea and a crisp slice of toast, spread a clean 
napkin on a waiter, doffed her wrapper, and professed 
her readiness to go up-stairs to be introduced. But 
from this proposition Bridget drew back, smiling, but 
abashed. 

“ ‘ Sure an’ it’s that same I never did in my life, an’ 
a pretty botch I’d make of it, but I will stay here, an’ 
bring the toast an* tay up with the callin’.’ 

“ Mrs. Grey’s gentle knock was answered by a feeble 
‘ Come in/ and softly opening the door, she entered. 
The headache had abated, but pale and weak and with 
tears on her lashes, poor little Mrs. Wheeler was bear- 
ing her troubles as well as she could. 

“ Although knowing the imperfections of Bridget, 
she was used to her, and lay there dreading the time when 
she must descend and see a strange face in her kitchen ; 
and here, the strange face had saved her the trouble 
by coming to see her; was standing by her bedside, a 
pleasant, cheery presence, looking at her with tender 
eyes; and after quietly giving her name, proceeded, 
without asking questions, to bathe the invalid’s face and 
hands in cool water, brush her hair back, turn the 
heated pillows, and then call according to order for the 
refreshments. And Mrs. Wheeler, refreshed and her 
mind at rest, praised the reviving tea and succulent toast 
by eating every bit of it and getting well forthwith. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


229 


“It is a difficult thing to negotiate when neither 
party will trust ; but in this case no such obstacle pre- 
sented itself. Preliminaries were soon settled, and at 
the end of the week Mrs. Wheeler was ready and wil- 
ling to give up all management into the capable hands 
of Mrs. Grey ; but as willing as the latter would have 
been to accept the charge, she felt she would be con- 
ferring a more lasting benefit upon her youthful em- 
ployer by putting her in the way of managing for her- 
self. She considered that no matter how capable ‘ help’ 
are to manage, every woman should be mistress in her 
own house. 

“She felt it not derogatory to her, to go to Mrs. 
Wheeler for orders; she had voluntarily assumed the 
position of housemaid ; she would be no nondescript. 
Her platform was, to fulfil to the letter all that should 
be required of her, and to spend the leisure time she 
secured by her system of work, as best suited her. She 
was pleased and satisfied with her employers ; she con- 
sidered her lines had fallen in pleasant places. Al- 
though not blessed with much of this world’s goods, 
their home was on no sordid scale; books and the 
latest periodicals graced their centre-table; they were 
refined and cultivated, and she asked no more. (Mrs. 
Grey’s words, not mine, remember.) 

“The kitchen underwent a regeneration; for Mrs. 
Grey felt that if her room could not afford her a 
pleasant resting-place, the kitchen must do double 
duty. Although she preferred, when her household 
duties were set aside, to turn her back upon them and 
forget them for a time, she possessed the happy faculty 
20 * 


230 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


of making the best of all things, and adapting herself 
to circumstances. So in a week the kitchen was as 
cosey a nook as any in the house. Hanging-baskets 
were flourishing in the sunny windows, rugs made of 
all sorts of discarded scraps dotted the white floor, her 
work-basket and books had possession of an out-of-the- 
way table, and neatness and comfort were the order of 
the day. 

“ But all these happy conclusions were not arrived 
at immediately. No, indeed. Mr. Wheeler, with mas- 
culine foresight and prudence, was doubtful and per- 
plexed. He wondered that a lady of Mrs. Grey’s (he 
even queried if that was her name) appearance should 
go out to service. Visions of female burglars visited 
his pillow and disturbed his slumbers; but, like the 
wise man that he was, he kept his suspicions to himself. 
He resolved to be silent but watchful, and his watching 
was rewarded, for after a few weeks the minister’s wife, 
Mrs. Irene Getty, who had long known and loved her, 
called to see Mrs. Grey, and as Mrs. Grey was out 
shopping, she entertained Mrs. Wheeler with the ex- 
cellencies of her dear friend. And then was John 
Wheeler ashamed of himself, and at last came to the 
sensible conclusion that his wife’s delicate instincts were 
worth a cart-load of his lumbering reasonings, and, fond, 
foolish fellow as he was, he told her so, for he had an 
old-fashioned notion that praise from a husband never 
yet spoiled a wife, and she was made glad and happy 
by it, and it was all owing to that good woman, Mrs. 
Grey. 

“ Out of her household goods she had saved such 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


231 


articles as she prized most highly, and rented a room 
in which to store them. Now that she was anchored, 
why not, if all parties were willing, bring them there? 
And while she was deliberating, a sweet and lovely 
baby daughter was given to the delighted parents, and 
none rejoiced with them more sincerely than did Mrs. 
Grey. Notwithstanding the tender welcome the little 
one received, nothing could keep it from the more 
beautiful home whither it was tending, and in a short 
time it winged its flight and left them, oh, so desolate ! 
Then who stood by the afflicted ones like Mrs. Grey ; 
for had she not passed through the same fiery ordeal, 
and knew just how to comfort ? 

“As the evenings grew longer, and there was no infant 
to occupy her time, Mrs. Wheeler would, with a sink- 
ing heart, see her husband slip his flute in his pocket 
and depart, and she would steal down into the cosey 
kitchen for comfort; and though no questions were 
asked nor confidences given, Mrs. Grey could see the 
skeleton which would peep out of the Wheeler closet, — 
i.e.f the evenings at home were dull, and Mr. Wheeler 
would seek society elsewhere. 

“ 1 For you see/ said his poor little wife, ( John is so 
fond of music, and I cannot play, and so of evenings 
he goes around to his uncle’s, and he and his cousins 
play duets on the flute and piano. I used often to go 
with him, but I could do nothing but sit still, and 
John thought I was dull and did not enjoy my even- 
ings, so it shortened his visits, and when I noticed it, 
I made excuses for not going, and I can see he likes it 
better, although he feels badly about leaving me alone.’ 


232 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


u Then her listener felt encouraged to make a propo- 
sition : 

“ ‘ What is to hinder you from learning to play ? I 
will teach you if you wish to learn. I am not a pro- 
ficient certainly, but I pass for a good performer, and 
will teach you all I know.’ 

“ And then these two laid their artful heads together, 
and planned and planned, and the result was that one 
of the pleasant rooms up-stairs was to be converted 
into a bedroom for Mrs. Grey ; and for the first time 
it occurred to Mrs. Wheeler that she might have had 
it all along, and Mrs. Grey knew her well enough to 
believe her. 

u The next day, while Mr. Wheeler would be at the 
store, the piano and all the rest of her housekeeping 
relics were to be brought and put in that room, and 
Mrs. Wheeler was to commence taking lessons forth- 
with, and the crowning joy of all was that it was to 
be kept a secret to surprise her husband ; and then he 
came, and the conference ended. 

“ The next morning it was, ‘ Oh, Mrs. Grey, I could 
scarcely sleep for planning for to-day, and thinking 
how delighted John will be when he finds I can play. 
His birthday is in February ; do you think, if I try 
my best, I can play “ Flow gently, sweet Afton,” by 
that time? It was his mother’s favorite piece, and he 
says it is so sweet on the piano accompanied by the 
flute.’ 

“ Mrs. Grey thought she could ; in fact, was sure she 
could, ‘ For see, it is nearly five months off*.’ 

“ Mr. Wheeler was never so slow in starting as on that 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


233 


momentous morning, but finally that important move 
was accomplished. The housework was all completed 
early, for on that morning, as on others, it was light- 
ened by hearty co-operation and pleasant converse, as 
Mrs. Wheeler took an interest in learning all things, 
and, under the excellent tuition of Mrs. Grey, was be- 
coming a good cook and housekeeper. 

“ The piano and all the rest were brought, and the 
room looked so homelike that it was hard to say which 
of the two women were the happier. 

“ Though neither of them possessed the voice of a 
prima-donna, nor was their music such as would have 
brought them greatness, yet it was sweet and homelike, 
and many a tender ballad and tuneful melody refused 
to consider its mission accomplished until it floated on 
the wings of the soft Indian-summer air to cheer some 
wayfarer on the street below. 

“ The birthday was drawing near, and on that day the 
piano was to find its way to the parlor, and the cousins 
were to come in the evening to help play the duets 
which they had been practising so secretly. There 
were cakes to be made, and dainties of all kinds, and 
the parlor to be trimmed with evergreens, and, oh, dear, 
what a happy, happy day it was to be ! 

u You begin to think it time for a gentleman to step 
upon the scene as a husband for Mrs. Grey, do you, Miss 
Caroline ? Well, I suppose it is, but I have tried to keep 
him back, out of kindness to Mrs. Wheeler, who is a 
favorite of mine; but he would come, the handsome, 
middle-aged gentleman, — Mr. Wheeler’s eldest brother. 

“ Mrs. Wheeler unwittingly laid the train with her 


234 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


own hands, for out of the fulness of her heart could she 
forbear filling her letters to relatives and friends with 
the exceeding merits of her dear friend, Mrs. Grey? 
And did not her bachelor brother-in-law pocket all he 
could lay hands on, and ponder over them to his heart’s 
content ? 

“ And what was the result ? Why, on John Wheeler’s 
birthday, for was not that a good excuse — as if he 
needed any — to visit his brother’s house, who should 
step in to crown the general joy but Herman Wheeler? 
I shall not tell you how long he stayed, nor what he 
said; but this I will tell you, that one year from that 
very evening a wedding-party was assembled in the 
same parlor, and the bride was Mrs. Grey, and the 
groom was handsome Herman Wheeler. 

“ The good minister’s wife was there ; also the good 
minister’s wife’s husband, who tied the knot for the 
happy couple; and Mrs. Wheeler No. 1 played the 
Wedding March on her own piano, for Mrs. Wheeler 
No. 2 had whispered in her delighted ear, ‘ I wish you 
would keep the piano, dear, for Herman has given me 
a piano for a bridal present, and I have no need of 
two.*” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


235 


CHAPTER XVII. 

SEALED PROPOSALS. 


“ Life hath its harvest-moons, 

Its tasselled corn, and purple-weighted vine; 

Its gathered sheaves of grain, — the blessed sign 
Of plenteous ripening, — bread and pure, rich wine, 

Full hearts for harvest tunes.’ ’ 

“ Caroline,” said Mrs. Levering, one morning, as 
her daughter came in from a visit to the cottage, “ there 
is a letter for you on the table in your room ; it came 
enclosed in one to your father.” 

“ In a letter to father !” exclaimed Caroline, in sur- 
prise. “ Who in the world wrote a letter to father and 
enclosed one in it to me?” 

“Some one I am not acquainted with,” smiled Mrs. 
Levering ; “ but he appears to be a gentleman.” 

“A gentleman !” Caroline’s face flushed with crim- 
son light, and, turning, she bounded up the steps, and 
in a moment was in her room. 

There it lay upon the table, a firm, manly-looking 
epistle, directed in a clear, educated business-hand. 
Caroline recognized it at a glance; knew every line 
and curve of the address; knew the seal; knew, in 
short, that it was a letter from Rev. James Ridgely, 
and no other. 

But to her father, — why was that ? She held it in 


236 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


her hand; she pondered; she must still the throbbing 
of her heart before she drew the letter from its en- 
velope; she must for a moment enjoy in anticipation 
that which she could at will make reality. 

It could be but for one cause that Mr. Ridgely would 
write to her father, and that cause must be herself. 
Caroline was right. Mr. Ridgely had written to 
Archibald Levering asking permission to address his 
daughter, and win her for a wife if he could. 

If there had been no letter in it for Caroline, it is 
doubtful if she would have ever heard from her father 
that he had received it. Mr. Levering would in all 
probability have quietly answered it, giving Mr. 
Ridgely liberty to do his own wooing, without any 
assistance from him ; but in some way the letter en- 
closed was a bond of unity between him and his daugh- 
ter ; it touched some chord in his own blighted life 
which responded to the touch, and his heart warmed 
towards the unknown lover as though he had unwit- 
tingly turned a page of his own youth. 

Although caring but little for the courtesies and eti- 
quette of society, Archibald Levering was by nature a 
gentleman, and he appreciated this mark of respect 
from Mr. Ridgely far more than his daughter or any 
one else would have given him credit for. Therefore, 
when he gave the letter to Mrs. Levering to deliver to 
Caroline, he left the one addressed to himself with it ; 
so Caroline had the whole story. 

“ To think he asked father first !” thought Caroline, 
flushing anew. “ He thought father was a polished 
gentleman like himself or Uncle Harkness. What 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 237 

will he think when he sees him ? Oh, if father only 
would be a little more like other people !” 

Mr. Ridgely’s letter to Caroline was kind and 
friendly, but not lover-like. Having asked permission 
of her rightful guardian to address her as his future 
wife, he would wait until that permission was given 
before doing so. In the mean time, he told her of the 
news in social, literary, and religious circles ; spoke of 
her uncle’s family, and mentioned how much Caroline 
had been missed by all. 

After reading her own and her father’s letter several 
times, Caroline fell into a delightful revery. Of course 
her father would give his consent, and it would result 
in her going back to St. Louis as the beloved wife of 
a popular minister. She saw herself presiding over 
the elegant home which she knew him to be able to 
possess, and her heart swelled high at the brilliant 
prospect. 

Caroline felt a natural diffidence at meeting her 
father at dinner. She put off coming down as long as 
she could, and not until Hesba had sharply called her 
for the second time did she summon courage to answer 
the call. Her father had removed his coat and hung 
it upon its accustomed peg behind the door, and was 
already at the table. He did not look up when Caro- 
line entered, for: which she mentally thanked him, 
though she feared at the same time that it was an un- 
favorable sign as to his opinion of Mr. Ridgely and 
his proposition. The meal, as usual, was partaken of 
almost silently, and as soon as it was over Mr. Lever- 
ing donned his coat and went back to the mill. 

21 


238 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Caroline had that morning promised Mrs. Wheeler a 
book, and after tea, walked down to the cottage with it 
in her hand. Under the exhilarating influence of hap- 
piness how beautiful everything appeared to Caroline 
that evening, as she lightly trod the fresh young grass 
of the meadow which lay between her home and the 
cottage! How romantic and beautiful looked the 
hoary old mill in the rosy beams of the setting sun ! 
how cheerily the birds were twittering their evening 
carols in the newly-leaved woods at the back of the 
cottage! how sweet and pure and lovely all things 
were ! and yet, at •the same hour last evening, how 
cold and dull and lifeless it had all appeared to her! 

Mr. Levering was standing in the mill-door in his 
habitual attitude — bolt upright with his hands crossed 
behind him — as his daughter passed through the 
meadow a short distance from him. Her face flushed 
as she saw he was observing her, and a presentiment 
that he intended speaking to her quickened her steps 
away, though why it did so, she could not explain, even 
to herself. He reached for his cane, which always 
stood just within the mill-door when not in use, 
stepped down the three steps which led to the mill- 
yard, and went to meet her. 

# “ Who is this James Ridgely, Caroline, who has 
written to me, enclosing a letter to you ?” he asked, 
abruptly. 

The question did not surprise Caroline, for in the 
evenings when she had condescended to entertain the 
home circle with any scraps of information in regard 
to her visit, although her father occupied his accus- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


239 


tomed place, he always appeared to be intently read- 
ing, and she did not know whether he caught any of 
the conversation or not. In these conversations Mr. 
Ridgely tilled a prominent place, because he had been 
a prominent feature in her sojourn from home. 

“ He is a brother of Aunt Harkness, father,” said 
she, gaining confidence; “is a minister, and has a fine 
church and congregation in St. Louis.” 

“ An oldish man, I suppose,” remarked her father. 

“Ido not think he is more than twenty-seven or 
eight. He is twenty years younger than Aunt Hark- 
ness, I once heard her say.” 

“I guess he is a fine man,” said Mr. Levering, hesi- 
tatingly; “but ” Here he stopped. Caroline 

saw there was something on her father’s mind to 
which he did not give utterance, but never imagined 
that it was sorrow at the prospect of her going away 
again ; for Mr. Levering was one of those persons who 
pass through life with their hearts veiled from those 
who are nearest and dearest, therefore are misunder- 
stood and unappreciated. 

“But you will not refuse him, father?” said Caro- 
line, putting her own construction on his hesitation ; 
“you will answer his letter, giving your consent?” 

“Yes, child, yes!” said her father, almost impa- 
tiently, as he turned away from his daughter and took 
the path back to the mill, while Caroline resumed her 
walk to the cottage. 

Poor, lonely father! Oh, Caroline, was there no 
affectionate instinct in your heart which prompted you 
to give your father one caress or word of filial affec- 


240 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


tion, — one token that he was dear to you, one sigh at 
the thought of separation ? 

Mr. Ridgely’s letter was answered, and the corre- 
spondence between Caroline and himself was regular 
and frequent ; but no word in regard to it passed be- 
tween Mr. Levering and his daughter. At length 
one evening Caroline received a letter from Mr. 
Fidgely which set her to thinking and planning se- 
riously. Mr. Ridgely had written that he would do 
himself the honor to pay her a visit the following 
month. 

Caroline was a believer in first impressions, and she 
made up her mind that her lover should see her on her 
own ground under the most favorable circumstances 
possible, and these circumstances, she decided with her 
shallow reasoning, could not be found under her 
father’s roof, but in the city home of her brother 
David’s widow. Her resolution was soon taken, her 
plans completed. She wrote to her sister-in-law, thank- 
ing her for the first time for her many kind invitations, 
and telling her when she might expect her. From 
thence she intended writing to Mr. Ridgely, telling 
him she was visiting, and inviting him to meet her at 
the home of Mrs. Amanda. 

“ I am determined he shall not see my home this 
trip, anyhow,” she said to herself, “and by the next 
time he comes I hope there will be a change.” 

Poor girl! by the next time there was a change, but 
not such as she had hoped for, but one which, with all 
her apparent heartlessness and real selfishness, bowed 
her to the earth in deep and sincere sorrow. The 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


241 


answer from Mrs. Amanda Levering came promptly, 
giving her a cordial invitation to come any day, and 
expressing her pleasure that it had at length suited 
Caroline’s convenience to pay her a visit. 

Caroline was now delightfully busy. The handsome 
dresses given her by her aunt Harkness came now in 
use. Through her cousin Sylvia, she had kept herself 
familiar with the changes and vagaries of fashion, and 
set cheerily about remodelling her wardrobe. Aunt 
Hester offered her assistance in the matter of doing up 
laces and muslins, and Caroline gladly accepted the 
offer. 

There was to all this anticipated pleasure, however, 
the inevitable drawback, the old carriage; she was com- 
pelled to go in that or stay at home. But in such a 
case as the present she was willing to risk a little 
damage to her pride for the sake of the object in view ; 
besides, she thought of a way in which, if she could get 
her father to acquiesce, all mortifications in regard to 
the carriage and his antiquated appearance might be 
in a measure obviated. 

She knew that her father stopped always, in his rare 
visits to the city, at a farmers’ hotel to have his horse 
fed. This hotel was in a respectable but unfashion- 
able part of the town. She thought she could manage, 
without her father suspecting her motive, to induce him 
to let her alight there, and walk to her sister-in-law’s, 
and Mrs. Amanda could send for the trunk when con- 
venient. Wardrobe completed and plans laid, Caroline 
set out on her visit. 

“ Where do you intend stopping, father, when we get 
2i* 


242 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

into town ?” she said, as the spires of the Monumental 
City came in sight. “I am not in the least hurry to get 
to Amanda’s, as she does not know exactly when to 
expect me, so I will go around with you first.” 

“ I want to call at Law r yer Dubreuil’s office a little 
while, and one or two other places ; but first, I will have 
the horse fed at the ‘Golden Sheaf/ and, as they keep 
carriages there to run to the depot and other places, I 
thought I would hire one, and send you and the trunk 
up to Amanda’s ; that will save me from going, and I 
can get home earlier.” 

Oh, no ! Archibald Levering was no dunce. If he 
had not been entirely satisfied in his own mind that he 
was doing precisely what Caroline most desired, her 
sudden rise in spirits and inability to conceal her 
pleasure at the proposal, would have convinced him. 
Before they drew up at the ladies’ entrance of the hotel 
it was noticed that Caroline’s blue veil was in demand, 
and her backwardness and evident desire to avoid at- 
tracting attention were beautiful to behold. 

Her father procured the carriage at once, and in the 
shortest possible time she had bidden her father good- 
by, had been provided with a more liberal supply of 
money than she had ever received at any one time from 
him, and was driven in fine style to the door of Mrs. 
Garrigue’s boarding-house. Caroline was again in her 
element. How delightful appeared the handsomely- 
furnished rooms ! How they brought back to her mind 
that lovely visit to St. Louis ! Her sister-in-law received 
her cordially, and conducted her to a pleasant room 
adjoining hers, from which was a view of the street ; 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


243 


and after a chat, in which Archie formed a prominent 
feature, left to give Caroline an opportunity to dress 
for dinner. 

“ You came at a very opportune time,” said she, as 
she was about leaving the room. “ The Literary Soci- 
ety meets this evening in the parlor, and I know you 
will enjoy it ; besides, you will be a valuable addition 
to the club.” 

Caroline felt as though stepping on air, so jubilant, 
so happy was she ; everything gave promise of a charm- 
ing visit. 

“Then I will dress again for evening, shall I not?” 
she inquired, eagerly. 

“ You can use your pleasure altogether about that,” 
smiled Mrs. Amanda ; “ the ladies generally don some- 
thing light for evening, but it is entirely optional. As 
you know, I wear nothing but black.” 

“And very becoming as it is to any one, it is more so 
to you,” said Caroline, sincerely. 

Evening came, and the members of the club were all 
present, with the usual number of guests, and Caroline 
thought she never saw so many agreeable and intelli- 
gent persons in one house, while they on their part were 
charmed with the beauty and grace of Caroline. 

Archie was watching fbr the return of his grandfather 
from the city very impatiently that evening. Strange 
that it had never occurred to any of them, not even to 
Archie himself, how conveniently he could have paid a 
visit to his mother and returned with his grandfather 
in the evening. 

If Caroline had thought of it, she would have most 


244 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


likely kept her thoughts to herself, as her manoeuvres 
and calculations tended toward getting to her sister-in- 
law’s without going in the old carriage, and Archie’s 
going would have upset all her plans. As for Archie, 
he was so full of a little scheme of his own that even 
the pleasure of a visit to the city did not occur to him. 
The moment he saw the old gray horse turn of its own 
accord into the familiar lane he ran to open the gate, 
and set it wide for him to pass through. 

“ Did you see mother, grandfather?” he said, eagerly, 
as he commenced mechanically to help unharness the 
old gray. 

“No, Archie, I did not go up to the house; I sent 
your aunt Caroline up in a hack.” 

Archie was a manly little fellow, but a chill of bitter 
disappointment ran over him, and tears filled his large 
brown eyes. His grandfather noticed it, and felt for 
the boy. “ Did you want to see her so badly, Archie? 
You did not say anything about it before I went.” 

“I did not know you could do any other way than 
go yourself,” replied Archie, vainly striving to control 
his voice. “ I wanted you to see mother and grand- 
mother and the baby and all, and tell me how they all 
looked, and if they missed me ; and besides, I wrote a 
note to mother, and sent it by. Aunt Caroline.” 

“ Caroline did not say a word to me about it, but 
that will make no difference ; she will give it to your 
mother as soon as she gets there.” 

“Yes; but it would be of no use. Wednesday of 
next week is Annette Wheeler’s birthday, and I wrote 
to mother to get me something nice for my present to 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 245 

her and send it by you. I know mother would have 
got the very nicest thing she could.” 

“ I am really sorry about it,” said Mr. Levering, 
compassionately. “ How would it do to give Annette 
some money, and let her buy whatever suits her?” he 
added, looking furtively around, as though afraid of 
being detected in doing a kindness. 

“Oh, I don’t think she would like that at all,” re- 
plied the boy; “but thank you all the same, grand- 
father.” 

“Well, then, I am afraid I cannot help you any; 
maybe your grandmother or Aunt Hesba could help 
you. Women know more about such things than 
men.” 

“Yes, sir; but I asked them before, and it was 
grandmother who first put it into my head to write to 
mother, and send the letter by Aunt Caroline.” 

“ Your aunt Caroline did not know what was in the 
note, I suppose, or she would have told me,” remarked 
Mr. Levering, reflectively. 

“Oh, yes, sir, she knew; but I expect she forgot 
it.” 

“ I could get some boy that brings grain to mill to 
catch you a rabbit or squirrel alive for her, and she 
could have it for a pet.” 

“Oh, that will be the very thing! How kind you 
are, grandfather! I know that will please Annette 
better than anything I could buy.” 

“Your uncle Jonas has a nice cage with a reel for 
a squirrel. We will ask him to sell it to you; and I 
will paint it over, and it will look like new.” 


246 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Mr. Levering did not forget his promise, and as 
Timothy happened to be the first boy who came after- 
ward to the mill, Timothy it was who engaged to catch 
the squirrel. He was fortunate in getting a beauty, 
with bright eyes and bushy tail, and Jonas Levering 
willingly gave the cage. Mr. Levering painted it in 
fancy style, and Archie’s present was complete. 

Annette’s birthday happened upon a school holiday, 
which Archie and she decided was the very luckiest 
thing that ever happened. His grandmother also gave 
him permission to stay from school the afternoon before, 
as Mrs. Wheeler was to take Annette and himself to 
search in the woods for crowfoot and evergreens to 
decorate the cottage, in honor of the birthday. Mrs. 
Wheeler knew all about the present Archie had pre- 
pared for Annette, and felt really grateful to Mr. Lev- 
ering for his kindness; yet her insight into his nature 
would have kept her from alluding to it in his presence 
even had she the opportunity. 

Archie and Annette helped make the birthday cake, 
Archie having brought the ingredients from the village 
store in his dinner-basket, and as soon as the frugal 
supper was over, to which he had obtained permission 
from home to remain, the grand business of decorating 
began. They had just finished, and were admiring the 
effect, when a little knock was heard on the door, and 
Hesba, with a shawl over her head, came in. A car- 
riage-load of visitors were up at the house, and she had 
come for Archie. 

Hesba was a little flustered by her speedy walk, 
and was in a hurry back ; but she could not help but 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


247 


exclaim at the beauty of the room, albeit she was not 
much given to praise. The pure white walls gleamed 
through the lovely clinging foliage, while here and 
there scarlet berries added to the effect. 

Hesha had not informed Archie w’ho the visitors 
were; in fact, she had not the time, for he was off in 
a flash, and in less time than it takes to tell it was in 
the arms of his mother. In the mean time, Hesba 
stayed long enough to inform Mrs. Wheeler who the 
visitors were, then followed Archie to the house. 

Caroline’s enjoyment of her visit did not fall an iota 
short of her expectations, which is more than can be 
said of most pleasures in this life. Mr. Ridgely came 
at the appointed time, and stopped at a hotel in the 
neighborhood of the Garrigue boarding-house. As jn 
St. Louis, he came often to take Caroline out for a 
drive. Sometimes he came with a double-seated car- 
riage, and invited Mrs. Garrigue and Mrs. Amanda to 
accompany them in long drives out in the country. 
J3e stayed over the Sabbath, and preached at one of 
the most noted churches in the city ; several of the 
ladies and gentlemen of the house went to hear him, 
and their appreciation of his discourse was sweeter 
than music to the ear of his affianced ; for he had 
offered himself to Caroline and had been accepted. 

“ Miss Caroline,” remarked Mr. Ridgely, one morn- 
ing while sitting in the parlor of the Garrigue boarding- 
house, “ I must return to St. Louis the last of next 
week ; but I shall not feel satisfied to leave here until 
I have called to pay* my respects to your father and 
mother. Living, as they do, within driving distance 


248 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


of the city, I feel it would be inexcusable in me to 
make no effort to see them. We will go any day you 
may appoint, and we will be most happy to have Mrs. 
Levering accompany us,” bowing to Mrs. Amanda, who 
was present. 

“ I shall be delighted to go,” said Mrs. Levering, 
quickly, to cover Caroline’s chagrined silence. “ I 
have, as you are aware, a son out there, aud am so 
glad to have the opportunity of going, particularly at 
this time, as he wrote by his aunt Caroline for me to 
attend to some little matters for him ; but as his grand- 
father could not make it suit to call that day, I could 
not send what he wrote for.” 

“ Let me see,” said Caroline, reflectively, mentally 
revolving to put it off long enough to send the home- 
folks a line, “ this is Saturday; the birthday. is next 
Wednesday. How would it do to go on Tuesday and 
spend the day ?” 

“ Whatever suits you, ladies,” said Mr. Ridgely, 
courteously ; “ I am entirely at your service.” 

“Or would it not be better to go on Tuesday even- 
ing and come back Wednesday morning,” said Mrs. 
Amanda, who longed to spend an evening with her 
son. 

Caroline agreed ; for she ran it quickly over in her 
mind that if there was any circumstance under which 
the.^dreary, bare old parlor at home, with its striped, 
home-made wool carpet, rush-seated chairs, and white 
muslin curtains, was endurable, it was when lighted up 
by a roaring hickory fire ; and if there were any fair side 
to the picture, she wanted Mr. Ridgely to see it. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


249 


The reverend gentleman’s coat-tails had scarcely dis- 
appeared through the hall-door that morning, before 
Caroline flew up-stairs, wrote a letter home, and slip- 
ping out, took it herself to the nearest letter-box. She 
directed it to her aunt Hesba, because Archie, who 
would call at the post-office on his way home from 
school on Monday and receive the letter, would be less 
apt to ask Aunt Hesba its contents than if received by 
his grandmother ; at all events, he would be less likely 
to hear them, supposing he did ask, so to Hesba it was 
sent. 

Caroline did not mention even to Mrs. Amanda that 
she had written, and took the precaution to mention to 
her aunt and mother that she had not done so. “ It 
will not be necessary for any of you to mention to Mr. 
Ridgely and Amanda that I gave you notice,” she added, 
and underscored, “ then any changes you make will not 
be known as changes ; and, above all, don’t tell Archie,” 
this latter clause with marked emphasis. 

“ It will prevent us catching mother with her every- 
day cap on,” she thought to herself as the letter 
dropped into the box, “and Aunt Hesba knitting 
at a stocking a yard long, and father in his shirt- 
sleeves, and the dining-room littered up with bits of 
leather and strings and other traps, which Archie has 
around him with his everlasting covering of balls.” 
So they went, and Archie was clasped in his mother’s 
arms. 

Now that they were really in her father’s house, Caro- 
line was surprised that she should have dreaded it, 
everything was passing along so excellently. How 
22 


250 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


bright and comfortable looked the old-fashioned parlor 
in the blaze of the crackling fire, which had been kept 
there all day ! for, although spring had far advanced, 
the evenings were very cool, and Caroline offered a 
devout thanksgiving in consequence. 

It is doubtful, if Archie had not been taken up by 
the birthday festival, whether he could have been kept 
in ignorance of the unusual preparations going on at 
home ; but he was at school all morning and at the cot- 
tage all the afternoon, and the only time he had been in 
the house that day was to eat his dinner, and his aunt 
and grandmother took particular care that nothing likely 
to attract his attention should be about just at that time. 
Hesba made one of her choicest poundcakes, and dressed 
the finest poultry on the place, and Mrs. Levering did 
her share of getting all in readiness unknown to Archie. 
As to the fire in the parlor, it could have burned there 
a month, and Archie have been none the wiser. The 
parlor was a spot which Archie did not affect. Its 
every-day funereal aspect chilled the boy to the marrow 
of his bones, and his visits to it were like those of 
angels, — few and far apart. He thought it the dreariest 
place on earth, and so it was, until lighted and warmed 
by the rollicking fire, which glorified every nook and 
angle, and made diminutive twin images of itself in the 
eyes of the happy circle around it. 

Caroline could see that her father was pleased with 
Mr. Ridgely, and, what was far more important in her 
eyes, that Mr. Ridgely was equally pleased with her 
father. In all her remembrance of Archibald Levering 
she had never seen him take a real interest in conver- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 251 

sation before. As for her mother, anybody that suited 
Caroline would suit her. 

Archie was in his favorite position, on a stool at his 
mother’s side, his arm resting on her lap and hers 
around him, while Mrs. Levering and her daughter- 
in-law dropped naturally into the subject so dear to 
both, that of the loved and lost, — Archie’s dead father. 
Mrs. Amanda was so grateful to the grandparents for 
the good home they had given her boy ; so glad to see 
him well and happy. 

Caroline, seeing all so happily interested, went out 
to chat with her aunt, who was putting the finishing 
touches on the supper. The long drive had given each 
an excellent appetite, and Archie was reminded of his 
first evening there, when he saw the estimation in which 
his aunt’s broiled chicken and excellent bread and 
coffee were held. 

As soon as Mrs. Amanda had arrived that day and 
laid aside her wrappings, she had given Archie the pres- 
ents his grandmother Garrigue and herself had bought 
for him, also a handsome wax doll as a present for An- 
nette, and a picture-book and puzzle to amuse both, — 
the latter being Archie’s present to Annette. The visi- 
tors had intended going back to the city the next morn- 
ing, but were so cordially invited to stay to dinner that 
they consented, and Archie was permitted to invite 
Annette up to take dinner with them ; so from begin- 
ning to end it was destined to be a perfect festival to 
the children. 

After breakfast Archie accompanied his grandfather 
and Mr. Ridgely upon a walk down the creek, and Mr. 


252 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Ridgely was charmed with the romantic beauty of the 
place. 

Considering the short time which elapsed between 
breakfast and dinner, it was amusing to note how many 
private little conferences took place between the little 
circle of entertainers and guests. 

Mr. Ridgely had a few moments’ private conversation 
with the parents of his betrothed, in which he affection- 
ately thanked them for the confidence they reposed 
in him in giving him their only child, whereupon it 
was noticeable that Archibald was much affected, al- 
though for anything he possessed he would not have 
wished any one to have known it, while Mercy smiled 
unmoved, with her usual placid sweetness. Mrs. 
Amanda also had a few minutes’ private conversation 
with the parents of her deceased husband, to which Mr. 
Levering listened immovably, while Mercy’s eyes filled 
with tears. Perhaps it concerned Archie, perhaps not, 
but whether so or otherwise, it made not a shade of 
difference in their kindness toward her. 

Caroline had a private chat with Aunt Hesba, in 
which she told of her engagement; also that Mr. 
Ridgely had received a call to the church he had 
preached in since his visit to her, that he intended ac- 
cepting it, and they would be settled near Mrs. Amanda. 

Archie had a private conference with his mother, in 
which he informed her in all sincerity that Annette 
Wheeler was the very prettiest girl in the whole world, 
and that he intended to marry her when he grew to be a 
man. Whereupon Mrs. Amanda smiled, and evinced a 
laudable curiosity to see the little maid ; and when An- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


253 


nette appeared at dinner, a sweet, modest, well-behaved 
child, Mrs. Amanda smiled again, and thought to her- 
self that if it should in time turn out as Archie had 
planned, her consent should not be hard to gain. 

Caroline had also a few seconds’ private conversation 
with her mother, in which she hurriedly whispered, 
“ Don’t let Aunt Hesba put any wine on the dinner- 
table, or hint that she makes it.” 

Yes, it was a delightful visit to all, and to none 
more than Hesba, for Mr. Ridgely had inquired into 
the state of the village church, and, finding it languish- 
ing, had interested himself in all the particulars. Once 
upon a time it had been in a flourishing condition, had 
a minister of its own, and a parsonage; but a new 
church had been built in a larger village, several miles 
away, and now it was only at chance times that service 
was held, and the parsonage had for many years been 
occupied by different mechanics who had successively 
moved into the village. Mr. Ridgely had money, and 
he had influence; he resolved to use both in an en- 
deavor to bring about a better state of things ; and his 
prayer in the home circle that night seemed to Hesba 
to hold in it a comforting hope for the future. Nothing 
had endeared Archie more to her than his willingness 
to accompany her across the lonely fields to prayer- 
meeting, and she longed for this change as much for 
Archie as for herself. 

The dinner was over, and, to Aunt Hesba’s secret 
satisfaction, was a perfect success; and the guests re- 
turned to the city. Mrs. Amanda had embraced her 
mother-in-law more tenderly than even usual with her, 

22 * 


254 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


and with tears in her lovely eyes besought Mr. Lever- 
ing to bring her to the city for a good long visit. 

“ It would do mother so much good,” she said ; u she 
needs a change.” 

For Mrs. Amanda had noticed what perhaps none 
of the rest had given a thought to, — not Mr. Ridgely, 
for it was his first time of seeing her; not her own 
family, for they were with her all the time, — she no- 
ticed that her mother-in-law was failing rapidly. She 
sorrowfully observed the languid step, the hurried 
breathing after the least exertion, the hollow eyes, and 
wan cheek. Yes, Mercy Levering’s time on earth was 
short, and no one was more conscious of it than Mercy 
herself. 

The evening before Mr. Ridgely’s departure for the 
West was that of the semi-monthly meeting of the 
Garrigue Literary Society, and it was a subject of con- 
gratulation that he had so timed his visit as to be a 
guest of the club. Every member, with an invited 
guest, was present, and after Lawyer Dubreuil had 
called the meeting to order he remarked, blandly, — 

“ It has always been one of my favorite maxims that 
‘Variety is the spice of life;’ so we will substitute 
something different, in place of the charades and tab- 
leaux. Our honored guest, the Rev. Mr. Ridgely, will 
address us for a few moments, after which our readings 
will proceed as usual.” 

The president, having excused himself, withdrew, 
and the conversation became general. 

“ That is because there is a minister present, I sup- 
pose,” said Dr. Seneca Watts, in a low tone. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


255 


“ What is because there is a minister present?” asked 
the law student. 

“ Why, having no charades nor tableaux nor noth- 
ing,” said Dr. Seneca, discontentedly. 

“ Did you not hear him say that Mr. Bidgely was 
going to fill in with an address?” 

“Yes; but that need not drive all the fun out of 
doors. I had a splendid tableau for this evening, cos- 
tume and scenery and all.” 

“What was it?” inquired the law student. 

“ Why, a wedding ; and now it has to be all set aside.” 

At that moment the parlor-door opened, and after a 
hush of expectation Mr. Bidgely arose and advanced 
to the centre of the room. The company followed his 
example, and arose in a body, as Lawyer Dubreuil, with 
Mrs. Amanda Levering on his arm, advanced slowly 
to the spot where Mr. Bidgely awaited them, and who 
began immediately to address them in the words that 
bound them together. Very sweet and lovely looked 
Mrs. Amanda in her soft dove-colored silk and floating 
veil ; and as for the little lawyer, he never looked so 
well in all his life. 

“Did you ever?” murmured Dr*. Seneca, almost 
overwhelmed with astonishment, when the ceremony 
was over. 

“ No, I never !” muttered the law student. 

“ I don’t like such sudden surprises,” said Dr. Sen- 
eca, with the traditional shake of the head which has 
been the stock in trade of the disciples of iEsculapius 
ever since there were disciples; “they are injurious to 
the nerves.” 


256 TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 

Congratulations of the happy pair became general, 
and smiles and good wishes were on every side. 

"Well, my dear sir,” remarked the happy groom, as 
the law student advanced, " I believe I succeeded in 
giving you a surprise; I hope it was a pleasant one.” 

“ But how in the world did you keep it such a se- 
cret ? I am sure not one of us suspected such a thing,” 
said the secretary. 

“ We did not do so intentionally,” replied the bride, 
smilingly. "You did not ask us, and we did not care 
to go out of our way to tell you.” 

“ It goes to prove, however,” said Mr. Kemp, “ that 
there are exceptions to all rules, and that all boarding- 
houses are not given to gossiping.” 

“ Because we have so much pleasanter ways of spend- 
ing our time; we really have no time to gossip,” said 
Miss Sally, his daughter. 

The club received another surprise when the doors 
of the dining-room were thrown open and disclosed 
refreshment-tables groaning under the weight of splen- 
did fruits, ices, and other luxuries, while the bride’s 
cake was a marvel of beauty, and all agreed that it 
was the most delightful wedding they had ever at- 
tended ; no formality nor restraint, yet sufficient solem- 
nity to keep all present in remembrance that two mem- 
bers of the society had entered into a solemn covenant 
which would end only with life. 


AND BIS FRIENDS. 


257 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SHADOW AND SUNLIGHT. 

“ Dear eyes, that looked so kindly down on me, 

In whose clear light my inmost thoughts shone plain. 

Gone from me now, so far, so utterly, 

That they shall never smile on me again.” 

One evening, six years after Timothy had come to 
Mrs. Carleton’s, he set out for the residence of Mr. 
Bryor. He was now seventeen years of age. The 
foxy color of his hair had changed to a rich auburn ; 
his freckles had disappeared ; the bloom of health was 
on cheek and lip, — Timothy was a well-developed, 
handsome, intelligent youth. 

He passed the place where Grace Darling had lost 
her life. He paused and reflected, as he had done 
many times before. It had always been a mystery to 
him what had become of her body, but he never al- 
luded to her in the presence of Mr. Bryor, for he felt 
that he was in some way connected with her disappear- 
ance. He went on, and reached the house at the usual 
time. Margery, the old servant, was busy in the 
kitchen. He passed the door of the parlor, which he 
had never known unlocked, and entered the library, 
where Mr. Bryor and himself passed their evenings. 
The fire burned cheerily on the hearth, the lamp was 
lighted, and all things wore their usual look of refined 


258 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


comfort. In his wonted place sat Mr. Bryor, but he 
turned not to greet his pupil. Mr. Bryor was dead. 
Like the master of “Ogilvie’s Pride,” he had passed 
away while his friends were supposing him to he in 
perfect health. For the second time the angel of death 
had removed one of Timothy’s friends and neighbors 
silently and without warning. 

The day before the funeral Timothy received a sum- 
mons to the house of death. In the unused parlor sat 
the attorney of the late owner of the mansion, and 
with him were the brother and niece of the deceased. 
They and Timothy were the only mourners. The law- 
yer proceeded to read the last will and testament of 
Mr. Bryor. All bonds, stocks, and mortgages were 
bequeathed to his only brother’s only child, Isabel ; but 
the farm and dwelling which he had occupied, with 
all they contained, were left without reservation to 
Timothy. “ Especially to my beloved pupil, Timothy, 
I bequeath, with my blessing, the statue concealed by a 
curtain in one corner of this room.” 

Timothy made no move toward it, so the lawyer 
advanced and drew aside the folds of crimson brocade. 
On a marble pedestal stood Grace Darling, as lifelike 
as though her taxidermist had been endowed with more 
than human skill. 

“ Oh, papa,” cried Isabel, “ it is my dog, my little 
Flora ! See, papa, there is my monogram on her collar !” 

The father had recognized the dog at a glance. 
When Isabel was a child it had been her pet, and 
about the time of his removal from the brownstone 
front, was lost. Neither Richard Bryor nor liis daugh- 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


259 


ter, however, had any more intention of disputing the 
possession of it, than they had of the farm which they 
had just heard bequeathed to Timothy. The city news- 
boy was now a land-owner, and his fine farm adjoined 
that of his steadfast friend, Mrs. Carleton, and Mrs. 
Carleton it was to whom he went for counsel as to 
the first move he should make on the checker-board of 
his new life. 

u Clem Pierson and his wife want to move on a farm 
this spring,” said this clear-sighted friend. “ Prudence 
is tired of living in the village. Keep Clem to farm 
your place, and let them occupy part of the house. 
Prudence is something of a shrew, but she is managing 
and capable, and will keep things comfortable about 
the place. By the time you are tired of that plan of 
farming you will be taking a wife, and will then have 
another adviser,” she concluded, with a smile, to which 
the boy responded. 

“ Then if I succeed in keeping Mr. Pierson,” re- 
plied Timothy, “I would occupy the other part of 
the house and board with them. Was that your 
idea ?” 

“ Exactly. It would be rather undignified for the 
owner of a better farm than mine to continue as here- 
tofore, and I congratulate myself on having so good a 
neighbor.” 

“ Thank you very sincerely for that and for all the 
other kindnesses you have ever shown me.” 

The years which had brought such changes to Tim- 
othy had also brought changes to his neighbors and 
friends. 


260 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Mrs. Mercy Levering had been laid in her grave in 
the church-yard belonging to the little church in Dorton. 
Very quietly and peacefully she had passed away ; fit 
ending to the inoffensive and patient life ; and her 
death made but little change in the daily routine of the 
home from which she had been taken. 

Mr. Ridgely and Caroline Levering were married 
a few months after her mother’s death, and occupied 
the handsome parsonage belonging to the church over 
which he was pastor, and Mrs. Garrigue’s boarding- 
house was in its usual flourishing condition. 

Mrs. Amanda was a prompt correspondent, and her 
letters to Archie were frequent. It was one of Archie’s 
many pleasures, these letters from his mother. He 
wanted all his friends to share his pleasure, so he had 
always given them to his grandparents and Aunt 
Hesba to read, and then took them to the cottage for 
Annette. It happened one morning that Mrs. Amanda 
had seated herself to write to her boy, when Caroline 
called in her handsome equipage to take her out for a 
drive, — on a shopping expedition for herself one may 
be sure, she wishing the benefit of her sister-in-law’s 
excellent taste. Knowing she would be detained too 
late to mail her letter that day, she asked Mrs. Gar- 
rigue to write, that Archie might not be disappointed ; 
so for the first time in his life Archie received a letter 
written by his grandmother Garrigue. 

After tea, the day in which this letter was received, 
Mr. Archibald Levering took his accustomed seat in 
the wide porch which faced the mill and the narrow 
grass-fringed path which led to Mr. Wheeler’s cottage. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


261 


Down this path Archie was passing, having, as he 
went by his grandfather, laid the letter on his knee. 

Archie had traversed but half the distance when 
something prompted him to turn. His grandfather 
had followed him, had overtaken him, and grasping 
him by the arm, said, with an expression upon his 
pallid face which Archie never forgot, “ Archibald, 
what was your grandmother’s name?” 

“ Martha Garrigue,” replied the startled boy. 

“ But before she married — before she married, — did 
you never happen to hear any one mention it?” 

“ No,” replied Archie, slowly ; “ I do not think I 
ever did.” 

Mr. Levering groaned. “Try and think, Archi- 
bald ; I will give you time.” 

“Once, when I was a very little boy,” said Archie, 
after a pause, “ I was at grandma’s, and she was dress- 
ing to go out. She let me look in her dressing-bureau. 
There was a little box in one of the drawers, and in it 
was a picture in a gold case with a name engraved 
upon it. I asked grandma whose name it was, and she 
told me to spell it and she would pronounce it for me.” 

“ And it was ” said Mr. Levering, eagerly. 

“ Martha Butlege.” 

“ Martha Butlege,” repeated his grandfather, with 
quivering lips. “ Oh, I knew it !” 

“ I did not know whose name that was,” continued 
Archie. “Grandma said the picture was given her by 
a very dear friend.” 

“But did not say whom?” questioned his auditor. 

“ No, sir ; but there was something else in the case, 
23 


262 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


and when I said the letters over, grandma said that was 
the name of the friend who gave it to her.” 

“ What were the letters?” 

“Let me think,” said the boy, slowly; “yes, this is 
it : i Martha Rutlege, from A. L.’ ” 

“ Did you see the picture ?” 

“ Only for a moment ; grandma took it and put it 
back in the box and locked it up in the drawer.” 

“Did it look like any one you knew?” 

“ No one that I know now. It was a young, hand- 
some man, and I said to grandma that it looked like 
father.” 

“ What did she say to that ?” said Mr. Levering, 
leaning forward with intense interest to catch the 
answer. 

“She turned suddenly around, drew me to her 
breast and kissed me, and told me not to mention to 
anybody that I had seen it, and I have never told any 
one until now. Perhaps I should not have done so 
even now.” 

For answer Mr. Levering turned, and with rapid 
steps sought his sister. 

“ Hesba !” rang his voice like a trumpet through the 
silent house. 

Hesba came, her face like that of the shrouded dead. 
What subtle feeling told her that the time had come 
when she must answer to her brother for the blight put 
upon his life, and by her? 

“ You told me she was dead ; you have been a living 
lie !” 

“ As God is my witness, Archibald, I thought she 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 263 

was dead until it was too late, — Mercy was your prom- 
ised wife.” 

“Give me the proof; nothing else will satisfy me, 
for I know you hated her.” 

“ I did hate her, Archibald, but not to that extent 
as to be willing to blight your life to punish her.” 

“ And without cause ; she never harmed you.” 

“ She laughed at me ; she ridiculed me before the 
only man I ever loved ; so, when I found it was a 
cousin of the same name, and not herself, who was 
dead, I let it pass. You were engaged to Mercy; I 
had to live with you, thanks to Martha Rutlege, whose 
flirting with Andrew Rice, and ridicule of me before 
him, alienated him from me. But for her, I would 
have had a home of my own.” 

“ That was about as good a turn as she could have 
done you,” replied Mr. Levering, his brow darkening. 
“ A poverty-stricken, itinerant preacher, with no home 
in prospect ; at least no settled home, with their eternal 
shifting from post to pillar. I think I see him now, 
with his saddle-bags full of tracts, and his bony old 
gray horse.” 

“ That was nothing to you, Archibald, nor to her. 
He suited me, and I would have suited him, had not 
Martha Rutlege, with her city airs and graces, cast me 
so in the shade, let alone her downright making fun of 
me before Mr. Rice.” 

“ Did you know that Archie’s grandmother was 
Martha Rutlege while Mercy lived ?” asked Mr. Lev- 
ering, waiving the subject of Mr. Andrew Rice. 

“I have known it always, Archibald. It was no 


264 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


trouble for me to keep informed of her through the 
Warners, whom she visited in her young days, and 
where you first met her.” 

“ The Warners would rather have had me believe 
her dead,” said Mr. Levering. “ No doubt they put 
off telling you of the mistake as long as they could, 
for they never liked me.” 

“And whose fault was that, Archibald? You 
slighted them; you never noticed them any more than 
the sand under your feet until Martha Rutlege visited 
them. They knew you only made a convenience of 
their house; girls don’t forget such things.” 

“And yet they must have known I was engaged to 
Martha Rutlege, and had promised to visit her after 
her return home.” 

“Of course they knew it,” replied Hesba. “Through 
them I heard of her death by a railroad accident, and 
afterward that it was not Martha, but a cousin of 
the same name. Through them I heard of her ^fiiar- 
riage with Garrigue, and, after their daughter grew to 
womanhood, of David’s attachment to her. The Rut- 
leges were old friends of Lawyer Dubreuil, with whom 
David read law, and it was natural that they should 
be often together. I might have interfered then and 
revenged myself on Martha Rutlege, but I had enough 
of match-breaking ; besides, I knew you had set your 
heart on having David remain single, and I thought 
any lot preferable to that.” 

“Do you suppose that Martha knows that David 
was my son ?” 

“ I do not see how she could help knowing it. You 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


265 


have always lived here, and have the same name that 
you had then. David’s wife visited here after her 
marriage, and you were at David’s funeral. How 
could she help knowing?” 

“ Do you suppose Mercy suspected ?” 

“ Mercy had never seen Martha Rutlege; conse- 
quently, when she saw Martha Garrigue as the mother 
of David’s wife, she was a stranger to her. She could 
not help hearing that you loved some one else before 
you married her, and perhaps heard she died ; but, as 
she had no acquaintance with the Warners, she knew 
nothing further, and Mercy, you know, was by nature 
easy and indifferent.” 

Mr. Levering winced. “She was a good wife to 
me ; poor Mercy !” 

“Moreover, I knew that Mercy loved you,” con- 
tinued his sister, “ and I was not willing she should 
be disappointed for the sake of one whom I considered 
so utterly unworthy as Martha Rutlege.” 

“ Who told you that Mercy loved me ? Not Mercy 
herself, I am sure.” 

“ It does not always require words, Archibald. Our 
father married his miller’s daughter, and when people 
used to quote that to Mercy, and would jokingly tell 
her that you would follow his example, one would be 
blind indeed not to see that she loved you.” 

Mr. Levering turned to leave the room. 

“Archibald,” said Hesba, “as we will probably never 
speak on this subject again, I want to ask you one 
question : Who told you that Martha Rutlege still 
lived?” 


23 * 


266 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


For answer Mr. Levering took Archie’s letter from 
the pocket of his coat and spread it open upon the 
table; then unclasping his collar, he took a slender 
guard from his neck, to which was attached a small 
morocco case. He opened it, and drew forth a worn, 
time-stained letter, and laid it side by side with the 
first. 

“ There is the only letter I ever received from Martha 
Rutlege; it has never left me since I heard of her 
death. Compare them.” 

A few days after this conversation a visitor called at 
the elegant home of the Rev. James Ridgely, and Car- 
oline descended to her luxurious parlor to greet her guest. 
It was her father in his inevitable suit of blue. 

“ I guess it is an old party what has been to a 
masquerade and somebody stole his clothes,” said the 
grinning waiter who had admitted him, on his return 
to the kitchen. 

“ Caroline, I am going up to see Amanda and the 
children ; will you go with me ?” 

“Not dressed as you are, father. If you will let 
me send out for a clothier to take your measure and 
bring you a suit of clothes, I will go with you 
gladly.” 

“ You may send for one, Caroline.” 

“ Oh, father, are you in earnest ? And for a barber ?” 

“ For a barber also, Caroline.” 

“ And for a hatter, father ?” 

“ For a hatter too, Caroline.” 

“For anything else you require, father?” 

“ For anything you think I require.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


267 


“ Oh, father, you are the dearest man in the world !” 
And Caroline flew out in a maze of delight to issue her 
commands. 

In a short time as handsome an elderly gentleman 
as one would wish to see called with Mrs. Caroline 
Ridgely at the Garrigue boarding-house. That gentle- 
man was Archibald Levering. He spent several days 
with his daughter, — the first visit he had ever paid in 
his life, — and every evening while in the city he spent 
with Mrs. Garrigue. And what do you suppose Caro- 
line gained by this attention to her father’s appearance? 
She gained a stepmother. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PRUDENCE CAUGHT NAPPING. 


“ It happens now and then 

That women blunder in their plans 
Like very clever men.” 

Of course, as there was no Mrs. Garrigue, it would 
be reasonable to suppose there could be no Mrs. Gar- 
rigue’s boarding-house. 

Before Archibald Levering had found the betrothed 
of his youth, Lawyer Dubreuil had his own views in 
regard to the brownstone front. It had been rather 
crowded for some time, and Mrs. Garrigue had taken 


268 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


the subject of enlarging the building under serious con- 
sideration, as she would not listen to the removal of Mr. 
Dubreuil and his family to another house. 

This wise little man discouraged the proposed enlarge- 
ment, for he thought he foresaw the time when Mrs. 
Garrigue would weary of that life, and he would then 
take the house off her hands, and give her the chance 
to spend the evening of her days in quiet tranquillity 
with him and Mrs. Amanda and the children. Fate, 
as usual, aided him, but took her own way of doing so. 
Mr. Levering stepped in with a prior claim, and, sen- 
sible little man that Lawyer Dubreuil was, he took in 
the situation at a glance, and gave his sincere congratu- 
lations in his usual graceful manner. Mrs. Archibald 
Levering was, therefore, making arrangements to leave 
the city for her rural abode, and the boarders were 
seeking other homes. 

In view of the turn affairs had taken, it may be ques- 
tioned if Hesba’s feelings were those of unmingled joy ; 
but that did not prevent her from having an excellent 
supper for the bride and groom on the evening of their 
journey to the old home. 

Mrs. Martha Levering had all her life been a steady 
church-goer, therefore thought it almost impossible to 
exist in a neighborhood where there was no regular 
service in the church. Mr. Ridgely had done his best 
to remedy the deficiency so far by using his influence 
to send out supplies, and Hesba’s heart was made glad 
in consequence. That was very good as far as it went, 
but Mrs. Martha wanted a regularly stationed preacher, 
and a parsonage for him to live in, and many were the 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


269 


conferences she and Mr. Ridgely, her step-son-in-law, 
had in regard to it. In one of these conversations she 
mentioned the name of Andrew Rice; for the part she 
had taken in breaking off the match between Mr. Rice 
and Hesba had always been a painful recollection, and 
she told Mr. Ridgely the whole affair from beginning 
to end. Upon inquiring, Mr. Ridgely found that Mr. 
Andrew Rice was still in the Conference, but without a 
settled charge. 

“ Oh, would it not be an excellent thing if we could 
have him sent to Dorton ?” said Mrs. Levering. “ Do, 
James, use your influence to bring it about.” 

Mr. Ridgely did use his influence, and with such 
good effect that before the parsonage — to the erection 
of which he had contributed every dollar — was com- 
pleted, Mr. Andrew Rice, still a bachelor, was appointed 
pastor in charge of Dorton church, and made his home 
with Mr. and Mrs. Levering until the parsonage should 
be ready for occupancy ; then he and Hesba, or rather, 
the Reverend Andrew and Mrs. Rice, took possession. 
Mrs. Levering and the other ladies of the congregation 
had made it ready, and welcomed by a pleasant enter- 
tainment their minister and his wife, who, by way of 
a bridal tour, had paid a visit to Caroline and Mrs. 
Amanda. 

It was noticed that Archibald Levering upon that 
occasion passed among the people, conversing with this 
one and that one in a manner never witnessed in him 
by the oldest inhabitant ; and the following Sunday, 
and every Sunday which followed, he took his seat with 
his wife and Archie in one of the main pews of the vil- 


270 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


lage church. Sometimes they were all prevailed upon 
by the happy Hesba to stay the day at the parsonage, 
to be on hand for evening service, upon which occasion 
they partook of one of her excellent Sunday dinners, 
prepared the day before, than which Archie thought 
nothing could be better. 

In the mean time, Timothy had taken possession of 
his new home, and Clem Pierson and his family were 
comfortably settled there, carrying on the farming in 
a manner to suit Farmer Brayson and Mrs. Carleton, 
and through them, Timothy, — who attended Dorton 
Academy, thus continuing the education for which Mr. 
Bryor had laid such a substantial foundation. 

All through Timothy’s boyhood there had been a 
secret wish to know something of his parentage. He 
had always borne the name of Edmonds, but he never 
believed that to be his real name. A feeling, like the 
fading remembrance of a dream, haunted him that he 
had known another life and other associations than 
those of Hammer’s Alley. Once he had startled granny 
by asking for information on this particular subject; 
but although she seemed on the point of telling him, 
she never did, but smoked away vigorously until some- 
thing occurred to her whereby to change the current of 
the boy’s thoughts. Now that he had a position to 
maintain in the neighborhood he became more anxious 
than ever to know something of his parents, and re- 
solved to take advantage of the very next holiday and 
pay a visit to the “ Home” and have a conversation 
with granny, for the purpose of finding out, if he could, 
who and what he was. 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


271 


The lovely face of Isabel Bryor was another motive 
which impelled him to this step. From the first time 
of seeing her he had loved her; but his knowledge of 
Mark Bryor taught him that no one of that name 
would condescend to recognize one who could boast of 
no lineage. 

Isabel's first visit to the neighborhood had been to 
her uncle Mark Bryor's funeral. At the time Colonel 
Willoughby died, her father and mother had been in- 
vited to “ Ogilvie's Pride/' and Mrs. Richard Bryor's 
haughty spirit had been wounded that Colonel Wil- 
loughby should have left his only child in charge of 
Aunt Ursula and Madame Angela, whom she looked 
upon as utter strangers to them and theirs, instead of 
herself, his own cousin. Henceforth she never inter- 
ested herself in regard to the orphan, and up to the 
time of her death had no communication whatever with 
“ Ogilvie's Pride.” 

Aunt Ursula, with her clear-sighted thoughtfulness, 
saw how much the two young cousins, Mary Wil- 
loughby and Isabel Bryor, — both growing into lovely 
womanhood, — could be benefited by an intimacy, so at 
the time of Mark Bryor's death Madame Angela and 
Mary called upon Isabel and her father, and while 
there, offered the use of their family carriage, horses, 
and coachman to take them to the burial-ground at 
Dorton. This offer, tendered so delicately and kindly, 
was appreciated and accepted, as was also the invitation 
to return in the carriage to “ Ogilvie's Pride” and re- 
main as long as agreeable to them. 

In return, Mary Willoughby was invited to visit 


272 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


Isabel in her city home, and after that it grew to be 
the understanding that Mary should spend her winters 
in the city, while Isabel every summer enjoyed the 
pleasures of a lovely country home at “ Ogilvie’s 
Pride.” 

Sometimes, when Timothy was trudging home from 
the Dorton Academy, his books under his arm, or of 
serene moonlit nights was returning from a walk to 
Mrs. Carleton’s, he met a merry company of four, and 
among them was one he worshipped, but, alas ! from 
afar. Though Isabel always recognized him by a slight 
smile and faint blush, his soul at times grew despond- 
ing, and he doubted that the distance between them 
would ever be lessened. 

Sometimes the party were on horseback, the two 
girls appearing more lovely than ever in their waving 
plumes and close-fitting habits of dark-blue cloth ; 
Rufus Carleton, the devoted cavalier of Mary Wil- 
loughby, while at the side of Isabel rode with boyish 
nonchalance, Frank Carleton. 

Timothy looked upon the successful wooing of Rufus 
with heartfelt rejoicing; but, noble of soul as he was, 
he envied, while he wondered, that Frank seemed to 
hold the bliss of being in the society of Isabel so 
lightly, a bliss for which he would have given every 
earthly possession. 

To Mrs. Prudence Pierson, one of the disadvantages 
of the little house at Dorton had been that there was 
not enough of house-room to keep clean and closed 
from every-day use. Clement would have enjoyed his 
home had there been enough to enjoy, but the small 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


273 


parlor had always been held by Prudence sacred from 
family use; after a few months of housekeeping the 
sitting-room followed suit, and swept and garnished, 
with bowed shutters and locked door, it was left to 
enjoy its sepulchral repose. 

The kitchen, though kept a miracle of neatness con- 
sidering that it was sitting-room, dining-room, sewing- 
room, nursery, and kitchen, could scarcely be called a 
haven of rest to Clem. He seldom took a seat in it 
that it did not happen to be against the door which 
led to the closet, stairs, pantry, or cellar, from which 
he was requested (sharply or gently, according to the 
mood of the moment or the exigencies of the occasion) 
to move by his busy spouse, who had vainly applied 
to the owner to build an outside kitchen, so that the 
one then in use might be cleaned, closed, and dark- 
ened. 

Grandmother Atheling, in whose gentle breast could 
linger no shadow of resentment for the unkindness for- 
merly shown her by Prudence, vainly tried to exorcise 
this housekeeping demon. She besought her to use her 
house, and keep it lighted and comfortable for herself 
and family, whose home it was, and not locked up in 
readiness for a chance visitor. But it was of no use: 
Prudence would have her own way. 

Timothy’s offer of the farm to be cultivated on 
shares opened a delightful prospect for Prudence. She 
was tired of village life, and, when the time came, left 
Dor ton without one regret. Prudence had some excel- 
lent qualities, but she was a rigid disciplinarian, almost 
too rigid for comfort, and before she and Clem had 
24 


274 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


lived together three years she had succeeded in break- 
ing him of several habits which she averred he had 
been allowed to acquire through the carelessness of his 
mother. 

By the time they moved to Timothy’s farm, Clem 
had learned to wipe his shoes on the mat at the door 
and step over the well-scoured sills, to hang up hat and 
coat, put his paper or book away as soon as he was 
done with it, and had stopped smoking and chewing 
tobacco. But with it all Clem was thoughtless and 
forgetful, and would not rise in the morning as early as 
his energetic wife considered necessary for the success- 
ful carrying on of farm-work, — two faults of which 
she was impatiently conscious that he did not try to 
renounce. Three times within her recollection, friends 
had sent word by Clem that they were coming to take 
tea with her, — messages which he forgot to deliver 
until he came home to supper and found them there ; 
and the number of commissions to the village which 
he had forgotten since they moved ou the farm was 
legion. • 

"It is all carelessness,” she was accustomed to say 
after another trial of this kind. “ No one need tell 
me it is owing to a naturally defective memory. I do 
not suppose my memory is better than that of other 
people, but I make it a point not to forget anything, 
and therefore I never forget anything.” 

“Well, I know you are a little uncommon in that 
respect,” Clem would reply, meekly ; “ but I think you 
ought to have a little patience with folks who cannot 
always have their wits about them.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


275 


“ Not a bit ! With a person who is always forgetting 
something and a sleepy-head I have not a shadow of 
sympathy. No matter what time in the night a person 
would speak to me, I should be awake in a moment 
and have my senses about me, and who ever heard of 
my oversleeping my time in the morning since I have 
had charge of a house ?” 

One morning a short time after this conjugal dia- 
logue, in which, as usual, Prudence had the closing 
argument, she awoke from a good nights rest with the 
instant consciousness that she had a full day’s work 
before her. Ever since her removal from Dorton to 
Timothy’s farm she had been possessed of a treasure in 
the shape of a maid-of-all-work who took pride in do- 
ing all that was to be done in the kitchen, leaving Mrs. 
Pierson to attend to the other parts of the house, the 
baby, the poultry, and innumerable other duties which 
farm life imposes. But this treasure had departed the 
Monday before upon a visit of a week’s duration, and 
Clement — whose parents had moved to a distant city" 
— took advantage of the leisure the season afforded to 
pay them a few days’ visit, engaging Harry Brayson to 
come over and attend to the stock in his absence, and 
Timothy had gone to the city to spend his Easter 
holiday and have during his visit some talks with 
granny. 

Therefore, Prudence was enjoying the novel expe- 
rience of having a farm and dwelling all to herself 
and baby, and the small girl she had obtained from 
the village to bear her company and give assistance 
about the house when needed. 


276 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


She dressed herself speedily and neatly, and before 
descending gave a call to her youthful assistant. 

“ Come, Betty ,” she said, briskly, “ be right smart 
and help me all you can this morning. Your mother 
sent me word that the children are to meet, for an hour 
or so, to decorate the village school-house for the ex- 
hibition this evening, so you must help me all you can 
before ten o’clock, the hour they are to meet. ” 

“ I shall be very busy to-day,” thought she, as she 
went clown-stairs. “ Saturday is always a busier day 
than any other, and I must be done in time to rest and 
dress for the exhibition.” 

The eight-day clock in the hall below broke in upon 
her reflections with its solemn, measured strokes, and 
Prudence paused to count. Instead of stopping, as 
she supposed it would, at the seventh stroke, it kept 
remorselessly on, until nine distinct beats were vibrating 
on the quiet air. 

“ What in the world can be the matter with the 
clock ?” she thought. “ It surely cannot be that time 
of day.” 

She hurried to convince herself that the ancient 
timepiece was deviating from the example of George 
Washington; but, alas! face and hands corroborated 
speech, and Prudence was compelled to sit down on 
one of the hall-chairs to take in this new aspect of 
affairs. 

“ I was very busy all day yesterday, and it was late 
when I went to sleep,” she communed ; “ but I have 
never overslept my time since I have had charge of a 
house. How thankful I am that Clement is not at 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


277 


home to know it ! I expected to have the bread made 
up and so much done by this time, and there is the 
baby waking. Well, I never !” 

Betty hurried down, pleased with the prospect of a 
visit to the woods, and with her she brought the baby, 
who, unlike his mamma, had awakened at the usual 
time. Prudence stirred some flour into the foaming 
sponge, which should have been made into dough two 
hours before, and which showed its observance of the 
neglect by running over the pan in sundry places, and 
then sat down to bathe and dress baby, while Betty 
started the fire. She was sorely tempted, under the 
pressure of circumstances, to keep Betty at home ; but, 
reflecting that her stay at the school-house would not 
be long, concluded to make the best of it and let her 
g°- 

u We will not cook much this morning, Betty/’ she 
said ; “ it is time now you were getting ready to go. 
We will just boil some eggs and make coffee. Be sure 
and come back as soon as you can, so we can be done 
in good time for this evening.” 

Betty flew around in fine spirits, and soon a comfort- 
able breakfast was on the table; after which Betty 
dressed and set out for the village. Prudence had 
only got the table out of the way, the baby on a rug 
in the middle of the floor, with playthings around 
him, and her attention turned to the bread, when Betty 
returned almost out of breath. 

“The school-house is shut up, and there is not a 
soul about,” she said, with a quiver in her voice. 

Prudence tried to hide the feeling of satisfaction 
24 * 


278 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


which would come in spite of her, so she said, con- 
solingly, "Well, never mind, Betty; they have changed 
the hour, I suppose, and forgot to send us word. I 
am going to the village this evening to take some 
butter and eggs, and you shall put baby in his carriage 
and go with me and select a new dress for yourself.” 

The late hour at which Prudence had arisen made 
everything hurried, and three o’clock found her in the 
midst of her preparations for the morrow; but still 
she had reached the turn of affairs from whence she 
could see the end, so was not more burdened in mind 
than was habitual with her. The nicely baked loaves 
of bread were cooling upon the table, their glossy 
brown coats contrasting with the flaky whiteness of 
the pies ; a pair of chickens for the next day’s dinner 
were simmering in the oven, in the intervals of watch- 
ing which Prudence was doing the week’s mending 
and jogging the cradle occasionally with her foot. 

A rap on the door summoned Betty from the iron- 
ing of a few towels, when the village physician, good 
old Dr. Linthicum, entered, in compliance with a mes- 
sage sent to him the day before by Prudence, who 
thought baby’s gums needed attention. 

“ I called this afternoon on my way to the meeting 
at Dorton,” he remarked, as he arose to go, after a 
short call. " I was thinking that perhaps Clement 
would like to ride along with me ; if so, I would be 
glad of his company.” 

Now, both Mr. Pierson and Dr. Linthicum were 
eager politicians, and Prudence took it for granted 
that it was a political meeting, — something in which 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


279 


she took but little interest ; but she answered politely, 
“ Thank you, doctor ; I know he would be very glad 
to go with you, but he is away from home, and will 
not be back before Monday evening. How is Mrs. 
Peters, doctor?” 

“She is a very sick woman; a very sick woman 
indeed. She may possibly live through the night, but 
I doubt it.” 

“ Poor woman !” sighed Prudence, as she laid aside 
her last piece of mending and took her knitting from 
the work-basket. “ I always intended going over to 
see her, but have so much to do.” 

“You are certainly an industrious woman, Mrs. 
Pierson,” he replied, a little dryly, as he glanced 
around the room. 

“Well, I always have plenty to do, doctor, but this 
week more than usual, for Maggie is away.” 

“ Oh, that accounts for it, does it? Well, do not forget 
that there are more days than one.” 

“ I shall not work too hard, doctor ; I have nearly 
finished. The only really difficult thing I did to-day 
was the churning, but it was completed satisfactorily.” 

All was done by five o’clock, and Prudence and 
Betty, their eggs and butter in a basket and baby in 
his carriage, set out for the village. Unfortunately for 
their expedition, the store doors were not only locked, 
but the shutters were closed and barred ; and even the 
empty dry-goods boxes on the porch, which formed such 
an attractive lounging-place for the gossiping masculines 
of the neighborhood, particularly on Saturday evening, 
were depopulated and forlorn. 


280 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


(i Poor Mrs. Peters must be dead,” said Mrs. Pierson 
to Betty, “ the doctor said she could scarcely last until 
morning. Oh, well, we will come some time again.” 

The evening proved rainy, and Prudence concluded 
that the exhibition would be postponed ; so after tea 
she read an hour or so, and then retired to her needed 
rest. 

The next morning was fair and beautiful, and Pru- 
dence, who had promised her aunt Hesba to spend the 
day with her and attend both services, felt very much 
like church-going indeed. She arose late, as was her 
Sunday morning custom, and after breakfast was over, 
and the little odds and ends of work — which even such 
a strict observer of the Sabbath as was Prudence con- 
sidered necessary — were completed, she dressed baby, 
who had never as yet been favored with the opportunity 
of seeing how loud he could cry in church, put him in 
his carriage, locked the house and departed. 

Prudence knew she was early, but she was a little 
surprised not to see any carriages in the yard which 
surrounded the church. However, as she intended 
calling to see Mrs. Bice first, she was rather glad she 
was earlier than she expected. There was no response 
to her knocking at Mr. Bice’s door, so returning to the 
church, where she supposed her aunt had gone, she en- 
tered, but to her surprise found no worshippers. She 
was convinced that she must be very early, when she 
came upon the sexton, who, with a long-handled brush, 
was so busy trying to bring down a refractory cobweb, 
which was dangling from the ceiling over the pulpit, 
that he did not hear her footsteps in the aisle. He had 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


281 


his back toward her, and Prudence did not wish him to 
feel mortified at being caught at his secular work, so 
she picked up her hymn-book and began piously to read 
a hymn, inwardly amused at the antics of the sexton, 
who to save time, she supposed, was hopping and jump- 
ing to reach the ceiling, instead of stopping long enough 
to get something to stand upon. Finally the cobweb 
succumbed, and the sexton, apparently satisfied, passed 
Prudence on his way to the vestibule, to deposit his 
wicked, Sabbath-breaking broom, and, as he did so, he 
gave her what she considered the superfluous informa- 
tion, “ That the rest had not come yet, and Mrs. Rice 
had gone to Peters’s store for needles and thread.” 

“ Gone for needles and thread !” thought Prudence, 
gazing in mute amazement at the retreating form of the 
sexton. “Aunt Hesba, the minister’s wife, gone for 
needles and thread ! Would wonders never cease?” 

The hymn she had been reading gave her memory 
the slip, and in its place came the refrain, “Needles 
and thread ! needles and thread ! Well, I never !” 

She had scarcely recovered from this second shock 
to her sense of Sabbath decorum, when good Mrs. Lin- 
thicum hurried in, and said, in a hearty, jovial voice, 
“ Now this is real good in you, dear Mrs. Pierson ; we 
thought of sending you word we were coming, — as you 
were not present to hear it given out, — but heard you 
had no help.” 

Mrs. Prudence was bewildered and dumfounded, and 
sat looking gravely at Mrs. Linthicum. 

“ Did you bring a lunch, my dear?” said that lady. 
“ We expect to be here the best part of the day, and I 


282 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


have ordered Silas to bring us a pot of good hot tea at 
one o’clock. There will be plenty of everything for 
you, if you neglected to provide anything.” 

“ Mrs. Linthicum, what do you mean ?” at length 
broke forth Prudence. “ What use can you have for 
needles and thread and lunch at church?” 

u Why, to make the new carpet, to be sure ; have 
you not heard that Aunt Ursula presented the church 
with a carpet ?” 

“ Not one word ; and on Sunday, too !” 

It was now Mrs. Linthicum’s turn to be astonished, 
and she emulated Mrs. Prudence in the genuineness of 
her surprise. 

“ If this is Sunday, what day was yesterday ?” she 
said. 

“ Why, Saturday, to be sure,” replied Prudence, con- 
fidently. 

“ The pastor of this church and his congregation did 
not think so, at all events,” remarked the doctor’s wife. 
“ My dear woman, you have lost a day out of your week.” 

At that moment Mrs. Pice and several other ladies 
came in. “ I looked for you all day yesterday, Pru- 
dence ; what prevented you from coming ?” said Aunt 
Hesba, a little dryly. 

Prudence reddened, but made no reply. “ I cannot 
stay here to-day, that is certain,” thought she to her- 
self; “I should feel all the time as though I were sew- 
ing on Sunday.” 

Good Mrs. Linthicum, to whom she whispered her 
intentions, readily excused her, promising to explain 
all to her aunt Hesba when opportunity afforded. 


AND HIS FBI ENDS. 


283 


Prudence had left the house locked she was sure, but 
she was equally sure she saw smoke issuing from the 
chimney, and heard the pump-handle going as she 
neared home, and she was right. As it was Monday, 
and Maggie’s visit was out, like a sensible girl she had 
come home, found the key where they were accustomed 
to hide it, — in the notch of the old plum-tree in the 
yard, — and was busy getting dinner. 

The evening brought Mr. Clem Pierson, who, like 
most persons not accustomed to spend much time from 
home, imagined a great deal indeed must have trans- 
pired in his absence, and took the best plan there was 
to find out. 

“ Did you go to the exhibition ?” he inquired pleas- 
antly of his wife. 

“ No ; you know it rained last evening,” Prudence 
replied. 

“But the exhibition was on Saturday evening; it 
did not rain then.” 

“ To be sure, so it was,” she replied, absently. 

“ Have you heard from Mrs. Peters ?” said he, glan- 
cing rather curiously at his wife, who appeared to be 
buried in thought. 

“ I guess she must be dead ; the store was closed on 
Saturday, — no, yesterday. Oh, I don’t know anything 
about it,” she said, rather sharply. 

“Did you have baby’s gums attended to?” said this 
interrogation-point of a husband, after a pause. 

“ Yes; Dr. Linthicum called on his way to a politi- 
cal meeting. He would have taken you along if you 
had been here.” 


284 


TIMOTHY : HIS NEIGHBORS 


“A political meeting this time of year ?” inquired 
Clem. “ Did he mention who was to be the speaker ?” 

“No, it could not have been a political meeting, 
either,” responded she, slowly. “ It was yesterday, and 
it would not be a meeting of that kind on Sunday.” 

“No, I should suppose not,” returned Clem, dryly. 
“ I will walk over and see Linthicum, and perhaps I 
can find out something about it.” 

Prudence had started to retire to rest, when she heard 
her husband return, and while passing along the upper 
hall she heard something like a suppressed chuckle in 
the dining-room below ; she heard a chuckle as slippers 
were being substituted for boots ; she heard a chuckle 
as Clem ascended the stairs; and although his face 
was as grave as that of a Comanche Indian when she 
surreptitiously glanced at it, she needed nothing to 
convince her that he had heard something more from 
jolly Dr. and Mrs. Linthicum than the name of the 
speaker at what she had taken for granted was a politi- 
cal meeting. 

But the best of it was Clem Pierson never afterward 
heard his wife say, “ I have not a particle of patience 
with a sleepy-head or one who forgets what he ought 
to remember.” 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


285 


CHAPTEE XX. 

FRUITION. # 

“ Life hath its hopes fulfilled ; 

Its glad fruitions, its blest answered prayer, 

Sweeter for waiting long, whose holy air 
Indrawn to silent souls, breathes forth its rare, 

Grand speech, by joy distilled.” 

One lovely spring morning Lawyer Dubreuil ob- 
tained the handsomest turnout to be had for hire in 
Baltimore, and took his family out to spend the day 
with his mother-in-law at Levering’s Mill. 

The carriage was stowed full of children, even to 
the exclusion of the little lawyer himself, who sat on 
the box with the driver, while Mrs. Amanda held 
alternately two children upon her lap, the one whose 
turn it was, standing by the lowered glass door of the 
carriage, gazing with delight at the varying scenery, so 
new and enchanting. 

Several of the children had been borrowed for the 
occasion ; for whenever Lawyer Dubreuil had an enjoy- 
ment he wanted all who could, to have a share, and his 
neighbors on either side were more than pleased to lend 
their little ones for a trip to the country. 

Archibald and Mrs. Levering were in readiness for 
them. Archie took the children in charge, and a fine 
day they had of it, as indeed everybody had who vis- 
ited Lever ing’s Mill. 


25 


286 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


In the afternoon a neighbor called to see Mrs. Lev- 
ering, and in the lady Lawyer Dubreuil was delighted 
to find an acquaintance of his youthful school-teaching 
days at Dorton. That lady was Mrs. Carleton, and 
Lawyer .Dubreuil and herself, joined by Mr. and Mrs. 
Levering, recalled many of the frolics of their youth, 
to which Mrs. Amanda was an amused listener. 

" Do take your bonnet off and stay the afternoon, ” 
said Mrs. Levering, hospitably. " I am sure there is 
nothing to call you home.” 

" Nothing at all,” replied Mrs. Carleton, hesitatingly, 
" except that Timothy was to come out from the city 
to-day, and on his way from Dorton was to call at our 
place to let me know the result of a small business 
matter with which I intrusted him.” 

"Timothy ! what Timothy?” said Lawyer Dubreuil, 
with his ever-alert eye to business. 

" Well, I really do not know exactly,” replied Mrs. 
Carleton, smiling. "He goes by the name of Ed- 
monds.” 

“ Bless my soul, madame !” said the little lawyer, 
excitedly; "was ever the like of that known before? 
Here I have been inquiring for that boy and advertis- 
ing for him in every prominent city in the Union for 
the last three weeks, and find him here under my very 
nose. Well, well; it has been a maxim of my life 
that truth is stranger than fiction.” 

"Are you aware, Mr. Dubreuil, that you are speak- 
ing in riddles ?” said Mrs. Carleton, a little impatiently. 
" What about Timothy ? Who is he ?” 

" He is the son of Mark Bryor, — your old neighbor, 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


287 


Mark Bryor, my dear madame, — and his mother was a 
wealthy Liverpool merchant’s daughter, and what is 
better for Timothy, she was Mark Bryor ’s lawful wife.” 

“ His wife ?” echoed Mrs. Carleton, while Mr. Lev- 
ering listened with aroused interest. “ Why, everybody 
about here thought he was a bachelor.” 

“ No doubt he wished many a time he had never 
been anything else,” replied Mr. Dubreuil ; “ for he 
and his wife lived very unhappily the one year they 
were together. The marrying of the petted child with 
mind undeveloped and character unformed, was but an 
impulse with Mark Bryor ; he never really loved her. 
When Mark went otf alone to Italy, her father, who 
had never allowed her to leave his house, forbade all 
communication with him, and when the poor girl-wife 
died, he packed the child, then three years old, and his 
nurse off to America, and sent word to Mark Bryor 
that mother and son were both dead. He had prom- 
ised the nurse Edmonds to send money regularly for 
the maintenance of the boy, but never did, and how 
they subsisted until Timothy found a home with you 
the Master above only knows.” 

“But how did you find all this out?” said Mrs. Carle- 
ton, eagerly ; “ tell us that.” 

“ I am coming to that, my dear madame, — coming to 
that all in good time. It has been a maxim of my life 
that the more haste the less speed, so we’ll allow the 
story to develop itself. The vessel in which Timothy 
and Nurse Edmonds sailed was bound for Baltimore; 
and when that old sinner of a Liverpool merchant 
found himself about to leave the world and his money 


288 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


behind him, he repented of his misdeeds and tried to 
hunt up Mark Bryor in Italy. Failing in that, he 
instructed his attorney to communicate immediately 
with some lawyer in our city to try, if possible, to 
hunt up the boy. The attorney happened to pick on 
me with whom to open communication, with the prom- 
ise that I should have half the profits set aside in the 
old merchant’s will for that purpose, should the boy be 
found. If this is the boy we are searching for, and I 
have no doubt in the world that it is, he will be the 
richest man south of Mason and Dixon’s line, or my 
name is not Lauren Dubreuil, attorney-at-law.” 

A rap on the hall-door interrupted the conversation, 
and Timothy was announced. He had stopped at Mrs. 
Carleton’s, and, finding that she had gone to call upon 
Mrs. Levering, concluded to take Levering’s Mill in 
his route and inform her of the result of his commis- 
sion. The rather care-worn expression with which he 
left home had disappeared. Timothy carried near his 
heart an antidote for most of the ills which life could 
hold for him. The light of happiness beamed in his 
clear blue eyes; his manner was possessed, easy, and 
graceful, and, as usual, courteous and respectful. 

Timothy had seen Granny Edmonds, and had heard 
good news. Being of age, granny considered that 
Timothy had a right to know all she had to tell, and 
that w T as much. She had taken the precaution several 
times, since leaving Liverpool, to go to different magis- 
trates and make solemn affidavit, that, what different 
lawyers had recorded as it fell from her lips was true. 
These papers were left with the lawyers, and to them 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


289 


Timothy applied, and the records were now in his pos- 
session. 

A short time after, Timothy and Lawyer Dubreuil 
set sail for Liverpool. There they found everything 
as represented, and Timothy came into his grand- 
father’s estate without trouble or delay. But his heart 
was in America, and he resolved that his home should 
be among his neighbors and his friends, so back to 
America he came. * 

Five years passed away, — years which brought 
changes, some slight, some great, to those he had 
known and loved from boyhood. Archibald Levering 
and his family were prosperous, Archibald himself look- 
ing younger than when Timothy had first known him. 
A comfortable new carriage had been bought by him, 
and the body of the old one was converted by his skil- 
ful hands into a handsome sleigh, which Archie painted 
in fine style. With gay and handsome sleigh-robes 
and afghan, knit by his sweetheart’s own fair hands, 
he and Annette Wheeler glided cheerily “over the hills 
and far away” to the merry tinkling of the bells, and 
the grandson of Martha Rutlege bade fair to be the 
third Archibald Levering who married the miller’s 
daughter. 

The Reverend Andrew and Mrs. Rice were grow- 
ing steadily into the respect and affection of his peo- 
ple, the number of which had more than trebled since 
he had taken Dorton church in charge. Though 
married late in life, years were doing their work to- 
ward assimilating dispositions entirely opposite, and 
both were benefited by the discipline. The strong will 


290 


TIMOTHY: HIS NEIGHBORS 


and warm temper of Aunt Hesba were subdued and 
held in restraint by the consistent example of her hus- 
band, while his amiability was not suffered to degener- 
ate into insignificance by his energetic, self-reliant wife, 
who possessed originality unknown to his gentler nature. 

Mr. Ridgely and his family were prospering, as he 
deserved that they should prosper, Caroline looking 
out for number one, as she had done all her life. She 
was praised and petted by her husband’s parishioners, 
who were proud of her beauty and elegance, while her 
affection for her friends had about the vivifying warmth 
of an electric light on snow. 

At Mrs. Carleton’s there had been a change, — 

“ Why weep ye, then, for him, who, having won 
The bound of man’s appointed years at last, 

Life’s blessings all enjoyed, life’s labor done, 

Serenely to his final rest has passed ; 

While the soft memory of his virtues yet 

Lingers like twilight hues when the bright sun is set?” 

At “ Ogilvie’s Pride” there had been great changes. 
Mary Willoughby had attained her majority, had mar- 
ried happily, — for her husband was Rufus Carleton, — 
and two lovely children, living images of the curly- 
haired darling who had slept in Madame Angela’s 
arms on that long sea-voyage so many years ago, were 
“wellsprings of pleasure” at “Ogilvie’s Pride.” 

Old age had stolen almost imperceptibly upon Aunt 
Ursula; it had whitened her once raven-black hair 
and dimmed the lustre of her starry eyes. The violin 
had refused to respond to her stiffened fingers and 


AND HIS FRIENDS. 


291 


feeble will, and when one day she calmly took leave 
of those who had made life so sweet to her, more 
bitter tears were never shed over the grave of hope 
and promise, than those she had left behind shed over 
that of decrepit age. 

A year had passed away, and Madame Angela said 
nothing in regard to a tombstone to mark the resting- 
place of Aunt Ursula; and when Rufus and Mary 
gently suggested it, they in after-years comprehended 
her reply: “All in good time, my children; we will 
keep it sweet and bright with the flowers she loved, 
and when I am laid beside her, you will follow im- 
plicitly, I know, the directions I shall leave in regard 
to our tombstone.” 

“ Can you doubt it, dear Madame Angela ?” said 
they, tenderly, and the subject was never mentioned 
again. 

A few years after, when Madame Angela departed 
in peace, they remembered her instructions, and among 
her papers found all they desired to know. 

One sweet summer morning the children of Dorton 
school spelled aloud this inscription on the tombstone 
over the two graves known to be those of Aunt Ursula 
and Madame Angela : 

“ Sacred to the memory of Count Victor Emanuel Paul Fred- 
erick De Villiars, who, for political reasons, was forced to leave 
his native land. He loved his adopted country, and his prayers 
were for her prosperity. With calm submission to the will of 
God, he departed this life June 6th, 18 — , aged 81 years. 

“This stone is also sacred to the memory of Lady Marie Jo- 
sephine Angela De Villiars, his wife, who departed this life 
September 7th, 18 — , aged 70 years.” 


292 


TIMOTHY. 


Changes had taken place on the farm of Timothy 
Bryor. A substantial and roomy farm-house was built 
for the occupancy of Clem Pierson and his family, to 
the great delight of Prudence, who at last had plenty 
of rooms to keep clean, closed, and darkened ; while 
from an old-fashioned farm-house, the dwelling once 
occupied by Mark Bryor was converted into an elegant 
villa, fitted up with every convenience, luxury, and 
embellishment that wealth without ostentation could 
desire. Wings were built on either side, with apart- 
ments in each suited to the requirements of a very 
small family, but furnished with every comfort and 
luxury. Each wing, in fact, was a home ; sufficiently 
near the main building for society and protection, yet 
a separate and distinct home. A fine-toned piano was 
in one of these homes, in accordance with a promise of 
long standing made by Timothy. That wing was the 
residence of Cousin Melie ; the other, of Granny Ed- 
monds. 

Children with the auburn hair of Timothy and the 
sweet, sunny countenance of Isabel made the once 
silent house ring with merry shouts ; while behind the 
crimson brocade curtain stood, as when placed there by 
the repentant hand of Mark Bryor, the graceful statue 
of Grace Darling. 


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